Lonely Is The Night
by TiTivillus
Summary: And as John quietly took in the evidence of his son's misery- of his own failure to protect his family, he wondered- not for the first time- if he was a bad father, and if it was wrong to drag his boys across the country in his never-ending crusade for revenge. Sometimes he wondered if they wouldn't be better off without him. Pre-Series. Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean and John
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Lonely is the night

**Summary:**  
_And as John quietly took in the evidence of his son's misery- of his own failure to protect his family, he wondered- not for the first time- if he was a bad father, and if it was wrong to drag his boys across the country in his never-ending crusade for revenge._  
_Sometimes he wondered if they wouldn't be better off without him. _

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

**Author's notes:** Rated K for swearing and violence. Warning for attempted sexual abuse in later chapters. No Beta. Reviews are love 3

* * *

John gripped the steering wheel of the Impala hard enough to turn his knuckles white and pushed the gas pedal, speeding down the highway.

With each mile that passed he clenched his jaw a little harder, heart hammering a little faster and body coiled tight like a spring.

The car was filled with silence, the only sound being the familiar lull of the Impala's engine.

John's eyes travelled over the blur of trees and houses lining the street, running together until they were nothing but shadowy patches of dark and light.

When he finally shifted his gaze from the windshield to the rear view mirror, the sight he was met with made his heart clench painfully in a sudden sense of nostalgia.

His two boys were huddled together on the back seat, Dean crammed up uncomfortably against the car door while Sammy was fast asleep in his brother's arms. Seeing them curled up together like that, it was easy to pretend this was just a night like any other.

But even in the darkness, John could see the vicious bruises covering his youngest's face, as he shifted against Dean's chest and mumbled incoherently in his sleep. Sam's narrow shoulders were shaking beneath the worn leather jacket that used to be his own and John cranked the heat up another notch, willing his youngest to be comfortable.

There were dark circles beneath Sam's eyes. His face was unnaturally pale, save for the angry looking gash on his forehead that stood in stark contrast to the ghostly pallor of his skin.

At least the wound had finally stopped bleeding. The kid had lost enough blood as it was.

The street lights from outside were casting an orange glow on Sam's face, illustrating the violent bruising as well as the half-dried tear tracks on the boy's cheeks.

And as John quietly took in the evidence of his son's misery- of his own failure to protect his family, he wondered- not for the first time- if he was a bad father, and if it was wrong to drag his boys across the country in his never-ending crusade for revenge.

Sometimes he wondered if they wouldn't be better off without him.

He shook the thought off and sighed, trying hard to keep his composure when all he wanted to do was scream until his voice failed him and trash the fucking car and find the goddamned bastard who had caused his baby boy so much pain.

The anger that surged through his veins was all-consuming, radiating from him in waves. Threatening to drown him.

Every fiber of John's being screamed for revenge, wanting nothing more than to rip the son-of-a-bitch that dared to lay hand on his son from limb to limb.

The very _human_ son-of-a-bitch.

And wasn't it just ironic, that after everything they had been through, every monster and vengeful spirit they had ever hunted, it was a regular, run-of-the-mill person that almost brought their world down tumbling?

John took a deep breath, trying to force the simmering anger down for the sake of his sons.

They needed him to stay focused. They needed him to be strong.

Because that was what he always did. Keeping his shit together- keeping _them _together- when everything around them started falling apart.

To keep smiling and handle any situation that was thrown at them, even if he was crying and screaming and fucking losing it on the inside.

Shifting his gaze to his eldest, John finally broke the silence.

"How are you holding up?", he asked, keeping his voice low and calm, so as not to rouse Sammy from his well-needed slumber.

God knows it had taken the kid long enough to fall asleep.

Dean merely lifted his head from where it rested against the cool glass window and swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "'m fine", he murmured, barely audible over the ramble of the car, voice raw and scratchy from lack of use.

John suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his son's obvious lie.

"Want me to stop so you can sit up front, stretch your legs for a bit?"

Because there was no way his son was gonna catch any sleep in that awkward position with Sammy's lanky body draped all over him.

But John might as well have asked Dean to lay off pie.

"Nah, 'm good."

"Dean...", John sighed heavily, unwilling to start a fight with his eldest. "I know you are only trying to watch out for your brother, but driving yourself into the ground isn't gonna help him."

"I said I'm good.", Dean snarled back, causing Sam to stir in his arms. John's eyes widened ,- both at Dean's insubordinate behavior as well as Sam's impending awakening.

They both held their breath when Sam clenched a fist in Dean's shirt and burrowed his face in his brother's neck, whimpering softly.

"Shh... it's alright. I'm here, Sammy. I got you.", Dean hushed gently, running his fingers through his brother's shaggy hair.

It didn't take long for Sam to fall back asleep, comforted by Dean's soft voice and gentle touch. John's lips twitched into a sad smile, once more fascinated by the close bond the two shared. It was heart-warming to see them interact like that, seeking and drawing comfort from each other's presence.

"He needs to catch a good night's rest, dad. We gonna stop anytime soon?"

"I saw a motel sign awhile back. We're off the next exit"

"Good", Dean sighed as he turned wearily back to look at his little brother. His face was just as ashen as Sammy's, freckles standing out starkly from the paleness of his skin. His cheek bones were more pronounced than usual and his expressive green eyes were dulled from lack of sleep.

Kid was obviously exhausted. Maybe even more so than Sam himself.

Dean's expression was closed off and stony as he gently rubbed his brother's back, but John knew his son well enough to notice the tell-tale signs of an impending meltdown.

Sam was Dean's weak spot and seeing his little brother bruised and battered like this- knowing what had happened to him, was almost too much for Dean to handle.

John wished he knew what to say to make things better.

But he feared words would never be enough to mend the emotional trauma caused by Sam's attacker. Was the sick bastard even aware of the damage he had caused? John doubted it.

A pit formed in his stommach at the thought that Dean was blaming himself for the state his little brother was in, adding yet another thing to the already existing self-imposed load of guilt resting on his shoulders.

It was his own doing, John thought idly. He had drilled it into Dean to take care of his little brother at all costs and Dean had gladly taken on the role of the care taker in their family.

But in doing so, he took on way too much responsibility at a way too young age and as a result of it, Dean often ended up taking the blame for everything that went wrong in their lives.

But not this time.

John wouldn't let him.

"You know that this isn't on you, right?"

Dean immediately recoiled from the words, handsome features twisting into a painful grimace.

"_Don't_, okay?", he pushed out in a strangled whisper, anguish written all over his face.

"It was not your fault, Dean. I mean it. Sam doesn't think that either. Your brother would never blame you for what happened -"

"Dad _please_ -" Dean cut him off, voice taking on a pleading quality that would have forced John to his knees if he were standing.

His eldest was at his breaking point. "Can we please not talk about this? I can't do this right now."

And who was John to deny Dean such a simple thing?

He sighed tiredly and took the exit they needed, slowing down as it merged onto a main road that was lined with diners and gas stations.

In the distance he could see a flickering Motel sign, luring them closer with the promise of hot showers and threadbare mattresses.

He eased the car onto the vacant parking lot and came to a halt, engine idling as he turned around in his seat.

"I'll go get us a room. Think you can get him to walk on his own?"

Carrying the lanky teenager inside bridal-style wouldn't be a problem for Dean, but it would draw way too much unwanted attention to their family.

And with the state Sammy was in, they couldn't afford to arouse any suspicion.

The last thing they needed was for the CPS to get involved.

Fear flickered in Dean's eyes at the implication and he nodded, tight lipped and determined.

By the time John returned to the car, both his boys were standing at the rear of the Impala, his youngest still more asleep than awake, leaning heavily against Dean's side.

John's expression turned soft as he approached them, taking in the way Dean rubbed his brother's back, mouth forming whispers of encouragement.

"Hey kiddo," John greeted and rested his palm against Sam's clammy neck in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture.

He could feel the tremors wrecking the boy's body and leaned down to press a quick kiss against his forehead in a rare display of affection.

"You with me?"

Sam met his eyes for all but a second, before quickly looking away, bottom lip trembling as he clutched at Dean's side, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

"Sammy...", John's breath hitched.

He wanted nothing more than to pull his son in a bear hug and never let him go. He wanted Sammy to know that he would never EVER think any less of him for what happened- for what had been done to him- and that there was nothing on the face of this earth that could lessen his love for either one of his boys.

But this wasn't the time and definitely not the right place to have an emotional breakdown with his kids.

Dean seemed to notice his internal dilemma, and started talking, once again coming to his old man's rescue.

"C'mon Sammy, let's get you inside..."

Sam didn't protest, never wavering from his big brother's side as Dean steered them away from the Impala and towards their motel room.

John took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of weakness in the darkness of the parking lot, a single tear breaking free from his eyes.

He only needed a minute.

Just a _goddamned _minute to gather his bearings, before heading inside.

Sam's injuries needed some attention, John needed to make sure he was alright before he would send him off to take a hot shower and force some more pain medication into him, maybe even something to eat- although John doubted Sam would be able to keep anything down.

And then came the hard part.

Then they would need to talk about what had happened.

John took a last shuddering breath before opening the trunk and slinging their duffle bags over his shoulder.

As he slowly made his way towards his boys, he steeled his resolve.

Because no matter how ugly the outfall would be, no matter how hard it would be for all of them- John would see his family through this.

He owed them that much.

* * *

_This really, totally did not turn out the way I intended for it to be. But... here it is (anyway! :P)  
I am not even sure if it is gonna be a stand-alone or WIP or whatever- guess it's entirely up to you guys and your reaction :P haha  
Please leave a review if you can spare a second :) I am still relatively new to this and need all the encouragement I can get^^ _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Lonely is the Night **_

_**Chapter 2**_

The short walk across the parking lot was enough to drain Sam of his last energy reserves.

By the time John had unlocked the door to their room, Sam looked about two seconds from collapsing, with Dean now carrying most of his weight.

John hovered close as Dean ushered Sam through the doorway, ready to help his boys if needed. But his eldest seemed to handle the situation just fine, gently steering the kid into the darkened motel room, all the while murmuring a steady stream of reassurances.

John smiled internally, knowing that the display of tenderness was something few people would ever expect to see from Dean,- that few people would ever get to witness.

Nobody was aware that beneath all that bravado and cockiness, Dean hid a much softer side of his character that was solely reserved for his family. Solely reserved for _Sam_.

The door fell closed behind them and John automatically reached for the light switch.

As soon as the room brightened, however, revealing cheap furniture and tasteless wallpaper, John noticed his mistake.

Sam's reaction was instantaneous, body curling in on himself as he groaned in pain and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Dad, turn it off! Head injury remember?", Dean hissed, pulling his little brother tighter against his chest, trying to shield him from getting blinded.

Sam's piteous whimper was muffled against Dean's chest and John felt a new surge of guilt at his own thoughtlessness.

Eye sensitivity was one of the many repercussions from taking a particularly hard blow to the head and John hated himself for having caused his son additional pain.

"Damn,... I'm sorry. Here let me-", he crossed over to the small bathroom and flicked the light on instead, leaving the door slightly ajar to cast the outside room into a dim glow.

Sam's instant relief was palpable.

"There we go now, that's better", Dean murmured soothingly, gently leading his brother towards the queen sized bed furthest from the door.

John exchanged an approving look with his eldest son, silently agreeing with Dean's decision to get Sam as far away from the motel room entrance as possible.

There was no fucking way he would let his boys sleep right next to the door after what had happened.

No, whoever wanted to get to his family, had to get through John first.

"Why don't we get you more comfortable while I help dad with the warding, huh?", Dean asked, ruffling his little brother's hair as the boy dropped down on the bed.

John didn't miss the way Sam's whole body stiffened, eyes widening in barely concealed panic at the prospect of his brother leaving. His hands were still tightly fisted in Dean's shirt, clinging to him as if he was some sort of lifeline- as if Dean was the only thing that kept him from falling apart.

And in that moment, John knew that he should have offered to do the warding himself, to spare his youngest the separation, but an irrational surge of jealousy kept him silent.

Because Sammy was _his_ son, John was his _father_ for god's sake and he should be the one taking care of him.

"I've got him, Dean, you can start laying the salt lines while I check his wounds."John ordered in a clipped tone, tossing the dufflebags onto the bed next to Sam and starting to dig for the medkit.

Dean hesitated, for once not immediately jumping to follow John's orders.

"Dad...", the nine-teen year old sighed, running a tired hand over his face, throat working. "Can we maybe wait with this until tomorrow? He could really use some sleep."

"Wait for what?", John snapped in response "For him to get an infection? You should know better than this, Dean. I _taught_ you better than this."

He'd done it again. His son's usually stoic features twisted into a deeply wounded expression, eyes flickering with the worst kind of guilt.

John closed his eyes, instantly regretting the harsh words he had spoken, but when he opened them again, Dean had already turned to start working on the salt lines.

And Sam- even in the weakened state he was in- had obviously watched the whole exchange and bestowed the angriest bitchface on John he could muster.

Great. Just freaking great. Not even 10 minutes into the night, John had managed to successfully hurt and anger both of his sons without meaning to do so.

Wasn't he just father of the year?

Forcing himself to pull through with this- to do what needed to be done, John sat down on the creaking mattress and unzipped the medkit.

"You know the drill, Sammy. Head comes first."

Sam's features were still edged with annoyance, no doubt about the way John had treated Dean earlier, but he was clever enough to momentarily drop the issue.

Inching closer to his father's side, Sammy craned his neck, giving John access to the blood clotted gash on the right side of his forehead. John quelled the rising anger inside of him as he tenderly gauged the area around the wound.

"Do you feel nauseous? Any problems with your vision?", he asked brushing Sam's unruly hair to the side to get a closer look at the injury.

"No. Nothing like that." Sam quietly admitted and then hissed when John's fingers came in direct contact with the gash. John cringed and pulled his hands away, uttering a soft apology as he pulled out the antiseptic and some gauze. "What year do we have?"

Sam huffed. "I don't have a concussion dad..."

"Just humor me, alright?"

"Nineteen-ninety-fou- ahh!" Sam suddenly gasped, when John gently pressed the gauze dabbed in antiseptic against the angry-looking wound. John watched his son's fingers dig into the bedspread, his back muscles tensing beneath the battered remains of what used to be his favorite shirt.

"Shhh...there we go, almost over.", John soothed, wrapping a make-shift bandage across Sammy's forehead to keep the sterilized pad in place.

They couldn't take any chances.

Once he was finished John gently grasped his son's chin with his fingers and turned it from side to side, taking a closer look at the bruises covering his face.

Sammy's right eye was slightly swollen, matching his lower lip which was viciously bruised and split at the bottom left corner.

He must have bitten through his own flesh during one of the blows he received, John darkly concluded, deeming the cut as small enough not to require any medical attention.

He took a last look at his son's pupils, relieved to see that they were reacting to light and could track his fingers without problems.

No concussion then. Sam had been right.

"Can you get your shirt off on your own?", John asked gruffly but before Sam could answer Dean had reappeared next to them, crouching down beside the bed, a pair of sweat pants and one of Dean's own well-worn T-shirts in his hands.

"I can help", he suggested without hesitation, hands already going for the bloodied remains of Sam's shirt. Together they worked to get the battered fabric off Sam's head and John barely managed to hold back a gasp at the sight of his son's exposed chest.

There were finger shaped marks on Sam's sides from where his attacker must have gripped him, standing out in shades of blue against his pale skin.

Unable to hold back an angry curse, John reached out to trace the vicious bruising, feeling his son's muscles quiver at the feather light touch.

Just when John thought he had seen the worst of his son's injuries, he noticed the slightly swollen patch of skin just above Sammy's collar-bone, colored a deep purple tone, lined with vicious indentation in the middle.

It took John all but 3 seconds to understand what he was looking at.

A hickey.

It was a goddamned hickey.

John's jaw clenched, pulse racing as his whole body shook with a rage he had never felt before. His blood turned to ice, fingers twitching in a sudden urge to hit the wall. Or preferably the bastard who had done this to Sam.

"Oh my god-" John's eyes snapped up to meet Dean's horrified expression and John saw the exact second when realization slammed into his son like a freight train.

"I'm gonna **_kill_** him! I am gonna rip that mother fucker apart!", Dean beckoned, completely furious, every last trace of his previous gentleness wiped away in a matter of seconds.

"Dean-", John tried to intervene, not wanting to cause a scene and risk getting thrown out of the motel, even when he was lusting for revenge- for _blood_ himself.

"Get a grip, son. I need you front and center understand?", John harshly commanded.

But Dean ignored him. He got up from the bed and made a beeline for the weapon bag.

"Fuck that! I'm going to make that sick bastard **_suffer_**-"

"_Dean_-", Sam suddenly cut in from the side, voice trembling with a mixture of emotions. Both their heads immediately snapped towards the youngest member of their family, even Dean being momentarily subdued by his baby brother's voice.

Sam's features were etched with pure agony, tears streaming from his eyes and running down his reddened cheeks.

He had his bony arms slung awkwardly across his bare chest, right hand tightly clutched over the viscious hickey he sported, no doubt trying to spare them the sight of his bruised body.

"Dean, _please_-" Sam begged brokenly, bottom lip trembling.

He didn't even need to finish his plea, for it was obvious what he so desperately needed.

Sam just wanted his brother to give him comfort. His family to be there for him in this moment of darkness.

But as John had correctly predicted- Dean was at his breaking point, no longer able to give comfort to anyone- not even Sammy.

Shaking his head, Dean muttered a broken "I can't - I'm sorry-", before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

**_TBC..._**

* * *

_Ohh the heartbreak _ So I decided to add another chapter to this story- without really knowing which direction it would take. This is what I came up with and I hope you guys liked it! _  
_Should I continue- yes, no? What do you think? :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Lonely is the night**_

_**Chapter 3**_

Once you've been a hunter for as long as John Winchester, it was easy to forget that outside of the paranormal world- outside of Shapeshifters, Wendigos and all the other things that go bump in the night- there were _other_ dangers that you needed to be aware of.

They could come in different shapes and flavors like a drunk driver on the road, a gang of rowdy teenagers, a drug addict itching for another shot, or a too friendly neighbour with a computer full of child pornography.

But essentially they all meant trouble.

That's why "normal" people taught their children not to roam dark streets after midnight, or to watch their drinks while they were out partying, or not to talk to strangers.

John knew that these dangers existed.

In fact, he was faced with their physical evidence every time he opened a newspaper or watched the news on TV in search of another hunt.

_Mafia crime boss found selling drugs to grad school students.  
_  
_Man shot his wife after 50 years of marriage.  
_  
The list was never-ending...

Sure, some of these cases turned out to be of the supernatural kind instead- but on the whole, most of these heinous crimes were not committed by monsters but by _**people**_.

Somewhere along the line, in between the gun training and the close combat and the ten-mile laps John had hovered in a false sense of security, thinking of his boys as invincible- of _untouchable_ to almost any type of danger.

Now sitting here in yet another run-down motel room, with his traumatized son- beaten and molested, _abused_ (and god did it hurt to use this word) by some perverted freak that got his jollies from messing with _children_ for christ's sake, John came to realize that he had been wrong- oh so _wrong_, in his presumption.

His sons were capable of holding their own, but they were not invincible. Not _untouchable.  
_  
They were just _boys_. Just children.

Just two kids bereft of their mother and abandoned by their father and relying on the only source of comfort they had left: each other.

John wasn't trying to feign innocence here. He was _painfully aware_ of the way these few words had managed to perfectly capture the essence of their family dysfunctions.

His boys just... _needed _each other.

That was why with Dean gone now- Sam was denied that last and most important source of comfort he was so obviously longing for.

The second the door had fallen into lock with an earth-shattering bang, Sam's last traces of composure crumbled away like dust in the wind.

It was like watching a volcano shortly before erupting.

Sam's eyes widened, still unblinkingly fixated on the door as the realization of what had just happened hit him full force.

It took about a second for him to finally register that his brother had actually _left _him, before he sagged forward, hands shooting out to cover his mouth while his whole body began to quaver with the force of holding back heart-wrenching sobs.

"Jesus, Sammy-", John breathed softly, "He'll be back. He just needs to catch some air, clear his head a little, that's all."

Sam shook his head, seemingly unconvinced by John's explanation.

Instead a first sob broke free from his throat as he sluggishly pulled his knees up to his chest and protectively wrapped his arms around his legs.

John didn't know what to do.

Sam had always been the sensible one in their family- not because he was youngest, but because he had inherited Mary's empathy and grew up wearing his heart on his sleeve.

That was not to say Dean wasn't sensitive as well, it just meant he didn't show it as openly.

When Sam was younger he was all hugs and sloppy kisses, clinging to both John and Dean 24/7 and crying at least twice a day for reasons that were beyond John's understanding.

He and Dean used to joke about the kid's ability to make a drama out of _everything. _But things had changed drastically when Sam became older.

Puberty had hit him _hard, _and Sam turned from the shy little kid he used to be into this tall, lanky teenager constantly questioning John's authority and always edging for a fight.

Nowadays Sam seemed so defiant, so collected- _so strong- _that it was hard to believe the tormented soul in front of him was what his youngest had reverted to.

"Sam, look at me", John urged, a little more persistent. "You gotta calm down son, okay? I know this isn't easy, but working yourself into a frenzie will only make you sick."

When that didn't bring any reaction either, John resorted to the only method he had left to ease his son's pain.

He pulled him into a tight embrace.

Sam went completely still in his arms, choking on another sob.

But John just closed his eyes, counting the seconds until Sam finally relented and hugged him back.

"H-he... left-", Sam spluttered out in between sobs, sounding so broken and lost that John had to fight tears of his own.

John tightened his hold on his youngest and sighed. "He'll be back, kiddo. Just give him some time."

Dean had always had a fast temper.

Sometimes he took John's advice to "Shoot first, ask questions later" a little too _damn' _literally.

But that didn't mean his eldest could actually run off and go shoot people.

So John had made sure Dean left unarmed and without the keys to the Impala.

If his eldest needed to let off some steam that was only understandable, but John would be damned if he let Dean run off on a half-cocked revenge plan.

"Your brother's probably out on the parking lot, Sammy. He's just trying to gather his bearings. Now why don't we concentrate on you for a bit longer and get this done with, huh?"

Sam's only response was a wet gurgle of misery.

John was pretty sure it was all the compliance he could expect in such a situation and gently loosened his hold on his youngest.

Moving back, he slid his hand up to gently grasp Sam's chin, lifting his face so that they were looking eye to eye. "I'll be as quick as I can, 'kay?"

Sam looked like death warmed over.

At this point his face was barely recognizable, a mess of colorful bruises and cuts, eyes slightly swollen and red-rimmed from all that crying.

Before he could help himself, John reached out to gently deb at the mix of snot and tears covering Sam's cheeks with his own shirt.

He was gonna wash it tomorrow, laundry needed to be done anyway...

"You gonna let me check that out?" John whispered questioningly, gesturing vaguely towards the vicious mark above Sam's collar-bone.

Sammy bit his lower lip, looking tortured.

Then he closed his eyes nodded.

John felt a surge of pride for his son's bravery and gently instructed Sam to lay back against the pillows and turn his head to the side to give him access to the wound.

The procedure was almost the same as with the gash on Sam's forehead.

Gauging the extent of damage done, looking for signs of infection, disinfecting and patching up.

Easier said than done...

This time, the treatment felt so much worse than it did with the gash on Sam's forehead.

Every time John came in contact with the wound, Sam would flinch away from his touch, breath coming in fast little pants and whi_mpering._

John felt strangely detached from it all as he worked silently- almost mechanically to treat the vicious mark, trying hard to keep his mind blank as he did it.

He couldn't afford to get sidetracked and picture the way that fucking bastard had held his _teenage _son down and fucking kissed him against his will- put his _filthy, perverted _lips to his son's throat-

"D-dad?" Sam meekly asked, immediately ripping John out of his thoughts.

John shook his head, reverting his attention to the task at hand. "Sorry... almost finished, just-"

"It's n-not gonna s-scar,... is it?", Sam broke him off shakily, and John immediately stilled his fingers, meeting his son's questioning gaze.

Sam's whole body was radiating panic as he waited dreadfully for an answer. Fear was shining in his hazel eyes.

Fear of having to live with that shameful mark- a constant reminder of what had been done to him by his tormentor, like some twisted kind of signature.

John felt sick.

"I can't tell for sure", he said quietly, eyes never wavering from his son's. "But I don't think so. "

The bruising would be gone within a few days, but the teeth marks were deep and had looked a little inflamed around the torn skin and John just didn't have it in him to lie at his son. Not about something so important.

Predictably, Sam's face fell at the confession.

His lips started trembling and John felt about two inches tall.

"Hey, hey, stop crying... I said _maybe_, Sammy. We will just have to wait and see."

That didn't make things better.

Sam sniffed and rolled to the side, drawing his knees up once more. "Are we finished?", he asked in a shaky voice. "Cause I'm kinda tired..."

"One more thing-", John promised reaching for Sam's wrist and turning his hand around in his grasp. Sam's knuckles were busted and John drew comfort from that fact.

It soothed the pain a little to know that Sammy had fought the son of a bitch. That he'd gotten in a few good punches.

Even with a head injury, being at such a huge disadvantage with the odds against his favor, Sam had given that bastard hell.

And John couldn't be prouder of him.

He rubbed some ointment on the chafed and irritated skin, before he gave Sam's shoulder a final squeeze. "All done."

He stood up from the mattress to get Sam a glass of water and some Tylenol, throwing a cursory glance towards the window as he made his way to the bathroom.

Dean still hadn't returned. John was starting to get a bit worried.

After Sam had chased the pill down with half a glass of water, John sat back down on the bed, gathering his youngest up in another wordless hug.

Sam melted against his chest without a flicker of resistance, fingers instantly tangling in John's sweat and tear soaked shirt.

"Try to get some sleep. I'm gonna be here when you wake up."

Sam sniffed and turned tired eyes into the direction of the motel room door, leaving no doubt about who he really wanted by his side.

"Dad?", Sam slurred, slowly but surely getting dragged under by the pain medication. John rubbed his son's back distractedly, avoiding the finger shaped bruises he knew were there like silent accusations painted on skin.

"Hmm?", he hummed exhaustedly, suddenly aware of the bone-tired weariness that got a hold of him.

"You don't think he's mad at me, do you?"

"Who? Dean?"

Sam nodded.

There was a beat of silence.

"Your brother doesn't have it in him to be mad at you, Sammy." John finally answered, hoping Sam could hear the unwavering resolution in his voice.

Sam didn't say anything as his breath slowly evened out into the steady pattern of sleep.

John took another minute before he quietly added "He loves you too much for that."

_**TBC...**_

* * *

_Hey guys! Thank you all for your lovely reviews and for staying tuned so far! :D _  
_In case you are still taking interest in this story, I promise to bring Dean back in the next chapter and to go into more detail about what happened to Sam. _  
_Yes, No, anyone?_  
_As always, pleeease tell me what you think! :D :D Reviews totally make my day!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Lonely is the night  
**_  
_**Chapter 4**_

When John stepped out into the night, the brisk air hit him like a slap to the face.

Cool wind was blowing across the vacant parking lot, stirring up leaves and dirt as John scanned the darkness for any sign of his son.

The distant rumble of cars wheeling by on a desert highway was barely audible over the rustle of trees and grass in the cold autumn breeze.

It was an all too familiar lullaby.

John took a deep breath, letting the air purify his lungs.

It was easy to spot Dean's familiar outlines leaning against the hood of the Impala, tense shoulders visible in the pale glow of a street-lamp.

John approached him without stealth, the sound of his booted footsteps preceding him.

His son's face was turned away from him, but in the fluorescent light John could make out glistening trails on his ashen cheeks.

Sam wasn't the only one hurting here...

John could see that the whole situation was tearing Dean up inside. But the silent suffering would have an end soon.

John wouldn't let Dean brush this off like he did everything else.

"I thought you could use some company", the gruff hunter offered, breaking the silence.

He didn't wait for his son's response before plopping down on the hood beside him.

There was a beat of silence.

"You shouldn't leave Sammy alone like this", Dean finally accused with a sniff and a quick wipe across his eyes. "Not after what happened"

"Well I wouldn't be out here if you hadn't run off in the first place...", John trailed off, lightly brushing Dean's arm with his own, weakening the emotional punch his words held. This wasn't about laying guilt on Dean, it was about nudging him into the right direction.

Getting him back on track, before things went too far out of hand.

"Look," John sighed, wishing for an easier way to say this "I know you are angry and you need to let off some steam. But Sam isn't thinking straight right now, he is emotionally vulnerable. And you storming off like this... it hurt him."

Dean grimaced, looking guilt-ridden.

"I didn't mean to. It's just-", he halted struggling for words "it's just so fucking hard to see him like that. And when I noticed the-"

Dean broke himself off, unable to form the word, leaving no doubt in John's mind about what he meant.

The violent mark on Sammy's throat would forever be etched into his own mind as a reminder of his own failure.

Dean got off from the car, driving his hands through his dark blond strands as he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for composure.

"Fuck, dad...", he breathed out in a pained whisper "He's just a goddamn' kid! He hasn't even kissed a _girl_ yet. Why would anybody do that to an innocent child?"

John didn't have an answer to that. Hell, he'd asked himself that question so many times and the only thing he'd come up with was _'Because they can.'  
_  
Some people were just hardwired the wrong way. And the simplest method to act out on their terrible plans and desires was to go for the easiest prey: children.

John picked his next words carefully. "What's done is done, Dean. We can only be glad the bastard was stopped before things could go any further..."

The implication was there, but John wouldn't allow his mind to go that far.

If he'd let himself delve in the '_what if's_', he was sure he would lose his mind.

Because knowing what had happened to his son and thinking about what _could_ have happened to him were two very different things.

"Shit..." Dean held a hand in front of his mouth, face blanching even more as he swayed on his feet.

"You okay?" John frowned reaching out to steady him, when Dean's expressive eyes suddenly flashed open, brimming with guilt and desperation.

"Jesus dad- this is all my fault- ALL of it, okay?! I knew something was off with the guy from the second we got there! But I didn't think he'd go after Sammy! Dad, I _swear-_ if I had known he was gonna try anything with Sam, I would have fucking _killed_ him before he got the chance-"

"Dean!", John interrupted his son's hysteric speech, mind unable to process so much information at once. What the hell was going on here?

"Calm down and start at the beginning. How could you have known any of this would be happening?"

"Because he _came on to me_, alright?!"

John's heart missed a beat as the meaning of his son's words began to sink in.

"Came on to you as in-"

Dean looked exasperated.

"Do you want me to spell it out for you or something? He was seizing me up, making lewd comments and shit!"

John's pulse sped up, breath going faster as his mind tried to process what Dean had just admitted. How much more could a father endure in one night?

As the puzzle-pieces slowly fell into place, John felt the anger inside of him flare up to new life.

He pushed off the bulk of the car, driving both his hands through his own hair, subconsciously mimicking Dean's earlier motion.

"What the _hell_, Dean? Why didn't you fucking tell me?"

"You were on a hunt!"

"You should have called me-"

"It's not like you ever pick up, dad! And besides- I can hardly run off crying every single time some asshole is eyeballing me or telling me what he wants to do to my _mouth_-"

Dean caught himself mid-sentence, eyes widening as he realized what he had just said.

They were both breathing heavily, standing close enough to touch.

The silence stretched and became suffocating between them.

Dean was the first one to break eye contact, suddenly looking sheepish, almost embarrassed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back down on the hood of the Impala.

John's shoulders sagged, feeling strangely hollow inside. He wished for a chasm to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

God, he was such a failure as a father.

How could he not have noticed?

How could he not have seen this coming?

It wasn't something any father liked to admit of being aware of, but John wasn't oblivious to the fact that his son was attractive.

He had inherited so much of Mary's beauty, dirty blond hair, delicate features, startling green eyes and plush lips, a dust of freckles across his nose...

No wonder the boy was turning heads anywhere they went.

Dean had never been shy about it either, taking pride in the fact that he had girls swooning over him, getting into the pants of half the female population of America (or that's what it felt like to John sometimes) with nothing more than a flirtatious wink or a quirk of his lips.

_And no doubt leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, _John thought idly, shaking his head.

But it wasn't just girls that took notice of Dean.

On more than one occasion, John had barely held himself back from breaking some slimy trucker's nose upon noticing how they let their hungry gaze trail up and down Dean's body.

The mere memory sent a shiver down John's spine.

But Dean was a grown up man- a _strong_ hunter, more than capable of fighting his own fights.

He could defend himself from unwanted advances, always on top of any situation thrown at him.

So what was different now? Why hadn't he stopped the fucking bastard- hadn't put him in his fucking place? How could Dean let his guard down like that around some perverted asshole, especially if Sammy was around?

John kicked at a stone and started pacing.

"You better start explaining, boy. What the fuck happened back there? How could you have let the bastard anywhere near Sam after he had made a move on you?"

Dean flinched at John's angry words, recoiling from them as if they were physical blows.

John knew he was being irrational. It wasn't Dean's fault, -not really.

Dean was as much a victim in the whole story as Sam was... But John felt so angry, - so incredibly furious, that his rage just boiled over lashing out at any person nearby.

"Were you really stupid enough to leave your fourteen-year-old brother alone with some sleazy landlord salivating all over you?!"

"Don't you fucking DARE!", Dean beckoned, "Don't you dare put this all on me, dad! You _know_ I would never let anything happen to Sammy- not on purpose. You have to _know_ that."

His shaky voice took on a pleading quality, begging John to hear him- to _understand.  
_  
"Then start explaining!", John shot back, not giving an inch despite his son's misery "Because from where I'm standing it looks like you just got up and left your little brother to fend for himself, while that pervert looked on waiting for the perfect chance to jump him!"

-_Or jump **you**_... John added in his thoughts.

Dean swallowed and burrowed his face in his hands.

His whole body was vibrating with guilt and _humiliation, _from the deep blush in his face, to the way he hung his head and folded in on himself, fighting the irresistible urge to hide himself from his father's accusing eyes.

"I didn't know he would go after Sammy", he breathed, voice muffled by his own fingers. "It was only just me- he never even gave Sam a second glance."

John tensed, silently waiting for more.

"At first he didn't do anything. Just seizing me up, shooting me dirty looks whenever we met, making comments. I thought nothing of it. Just another asshole that couldn't catch a hint, you know? Then one time the heater fell out and Sammy was cold so I tried to contact him. He showed up in the middle of the night to fix it, getting into my space, brushing his hands against me and stuff..."

"Why didn't you do something?", John demanded angrily.

Dean's gaze shot up, eyes ablaze with a flicker of defiance.

"I did. I snapped at him, told him to keep his fucking hands to himself." Dean snorted bitterly "But the bastard wouldn't lay off. He said he'd been watching us, knew me and Sammy were always on our own, with no one to take care of us- no _parental supervision_-"

John felt ice settle in his chest. "Dean. What did he do?"

Dean shook his head, biting his lip self-consciously "He threatened to call CPS if I didn't... _play nice_"

Oh god no, nononononono... NO!

That couldn't be true. Dean would _never-_ he wouldn't go that far- wouldn't let anybody extort him like that. No. Not happening. Not his son. Not ever.

Or would he?

"Damnit son... Tell me you didn't-"

Dean snorted.

"Give me some credit, Dad", the teenager dead-panned weakly, "I don't put out on the first date..."

Trust his son to make a joke at the most inappropriate moments.

Relief washed over John like a tidal wave.

Nothing too serious could have happened if Dean was willing to joke about it, right?

"So you told him off?! He didn't touch you?"

John needed to make absolutely sure his eldest hadn't done anything stupid. Hadn't played the sacrificial lamb for the sake of staying out of trouble. Not this time.

Not when so much was at stake.

Dean sighed heavily.

"I kicked him out and started packing our shit, ready to scram in case he was gonna make true on his promise... "

"You didn't have a car", John threw in, angry at himself for having left his sons in such a sleazy area- stranded and unprotected.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "We could have run. But Sam didn't want to leave. He was starting to reason with me, about how the guy was probably only spewing hot air and how we couldn't afford to run off with the little money we had left..."

"So you stayed."

Dean clenched his jaw, lowering his hands to finally meet John's eyes.

"I'm _so sorry_, dad. I should have never listened to him, I should have just gotten our stuff together and left like I wanted to in the first place..."

John didn't know what to say. Yes, they should have left. But where to?

Who knows what else could have happened to his boys if they had run off to sleep beneath a bridge or in some run-down homeless shelter?

John didn't even want to think about it.

His stomach churned with guilt and self-loathing.

_Forgive me, Mary-..._

Clearing his throat, John tried to regain his bearings.

He still needed to know how it came to Sam's attack, still needed to dig further into the story, even though it hurt to hear all this.

He was ringing for words, unsure of how to continue, when a sudden cry echoed through the night, stealing all the air from John's lungs.

He would have recognized the anguished voice _anywhere_.

Dean was up and running, before John could even try to force his limbs into motion.

_Sammy!_

**TBC...**

* * *

_Yayyy a cliffiee :) I was really not too sure about how this chapter turned out, so I hope it wasn't too terrible :-S  
I promise to clear things up some more in the following chapters.  
Thanks once more for all the support and -as always pleeeease let me know what you think ! Reviews are love :)  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Lonely is the Night **_

_**Chapter 5**_

John was rarely afraid of anything.

He had always thought of himself as rather fearless, even before hunting down Werewolves and Demons became his favorite pastime activity.

But apart from being a ruthless hunter and a marine, John was also a father and as a parent he knew there was nothing more terrifying than having to fear for your child's safety.

The mere thought that anything might happen to either one of his boys was turning John into a shuddering mess- unable to imagine a life without them.

That's why hearing his son's distressed screaming was way more paralyzing than having to face any given supernatural entity could ever be.

For a tantalizing second the fear was so all-consuming that he couldn't move, mind already conjuring up all the terrible things that could have caused his son's distress.

But as he watched Dean sprint across the parking lot, he ripped himself out of his daze and started moving.

His son needed him.

Sammy needed him and nothing else mattered.

With that thought in mind John threw a cursory glance around to make sure nobody was watching before he pulled the revolver from his waistband and stormed off towards the motel room.

Diving through the doorway John's eyes immediately found Sam on the bed furthest from the door, just where he had left him sleeping peacefully about an hour ago.

But Sam was no longer sleeping. His eyes were torn wide open in terror as he struggled with the blankets, gasping for breath, silent tears tracking down reddened cheeks as he fought for freedom.

Dean was at his side in a heartbeat.

"Hey, hey, it's alright", his eldest whispered, hands reaching to untangle Sam from the blankets he was wrestling with. "It was just a dream, you are okay now, Sammy. I gotcha"

John threw a short glance at the windows to check for any signs of a forced entry before reverting his gaze back to his sons.

The glass was unbroken. And so were the salt lines.

Just a nightmare, then.

John took a deep breath and tucked his gun away. _Thank god.  
_  
But Sam seemed to be out of it- unaware of his surroundings, flinching back from his brother's gentle hands and soothing words as if Dean was trying to harm him.

"Nugh-stop-", his youngest uttered, trying to fight the unwanted touch sluggishly.

Dean dodged his brother's kitten-weak shoves and punches with ease and leaned in to rest his palm against his brother's forehead.

"Shit dad- he's burning up."

"That's impossible.", John shook his head and shoved Dean to the side, taking up his spot next to Sam. "I disinfected the wounds myself."

"Well then you must've missed something because he's got a fever."

John couldn't believe it. He had been thorough in his examination.

But just sitting close to Sam, John could already feel the body heat radiating from the boy's feverish skin.

_Not good._

_Not good at all._

"Stop it- leave me- stop!", Sam panted and weakly started kicking his legs in an effort to fight John off.

His eyes were unfocused, pupils lazily rolling around, as he tried to track his father's movements.

His cheeks were flushed and his brows furrowed in confusion, sweat glistening on too hot skin while John pressed trembling fingers against Sam's pulse point.

_Fast and shallow. Too damn' fast._

"Dean. Go get the shower running. We need to get his temperature down. Hurry!"

His eldest rushed off immediately, always so trusting and willing to follow his father's orders.

A few seconds later the sound of water hitting porcelain filled the air and John leaned in to gather Sam's writhing body up in his arms.

"N-nugh! Dn't touch m-me", Sam cried, struggling against the hold with renewed fervor. "_Please don't-_"

It must have been one of the hardest things John ever had to do, ignoring his son's broken pleas for freedom as he relived the nightmare of his brutal attack.

But John didn't have a choice.

If they didn't get Sam's fever down, they would have to go to the hospital and that would make their situation ten times worse.

The doctors would get suspicious about Sam's bruises, they would see the scratches on his back, the hickey on his throat and no-doubt accuse _John _of having put the brutal marks there.

No, the hospital wasn't even an option.

John wouldn't let them take Sammy away from him.

Not over his dead body...

"Shhh... It's just me, Sam. 'm not trying to hurt you"

The meaning behind his words went unheard, falling on deaf ears as Sam fought with all he got, clawing and kicking every step along the way.

The few meters to the bathroom might as well have been hundreds of miles.

John felt the emotional strain with every step to cross the seemingly endless distance. When he finally made it into the bathroom, Dean was already waiting for them.

"I put some towels and fresh bandages out.", his eldest mumbled as he moved in to support Sam's other side.

Together they worked like a well-oiled machine, faces kept mindfully blank as they ripped the sweat-soaked shirt from Sam's flailing body, ignoring the tears on Sam's face for the sake of his health and survival.

But just as John crouched down to unfasten Sam's pants, Dean grasped his father by the wrist, face etched with barely contained anguish as he bestowed an imploring look on him.

"He's barely with it, dad. Just- ... leave them on, okay?"

John closed his eyes, nodding his head in silent consent.

Dean was right.

Sammy was traumatized enough without having to get restrained and undressed against his will- especially after what had happened.

"He won't stay in by himself.", John reasoned as he started to maneuver Sam to the open shower stall.

Dean was already a step ahead of him, ripping his own clothes from his lean body.

"I got him."

Dean slung his bare arm across Sam's chest and drew him in close, whispering gently into his brother's ear as he dragged them both under the ice-cold water spray.

They both hissed, faces grimacing in pain and Sam's struggle grew more desperate the instant the water made contact with his feverish skin.

"Don't let him go", John ordered, flinching in sympathy, yet knowing their efforts would be in vain if they let Sam out too early.

Dean tightened his arms on his brother's trembling body, keeping him in place even through Sam's fierce attempts to break free.

"Nuuuh- let me go, le' me out- _pleease._.."

"Just a few more minutes", Dean choked, biting his lower lip as he sank to his knees, dragging Sammy to the tiled ground with him.

John clenched his jaw, watching Sam's face contort in desperation and pain, while the icy water kept hitting his skin, pants already soaked through and long hair plastered to his forehead.

His trembling body was tense against Dean's chest, still writhing and clawing at the restraining arms. "D'n..."

"'m right here, Sammy."

John pretended not to notice how Dean's voice broke on the last word.

He would have loved nothing more than to shut the water off and wrap both his son's into a warm fluffy towel, hugging them senseless, but he knew that it was still too early.

Sam's head rolled around on Dean's shoulder in an uncoordinated movement. "Dean...", he cried softly and John felt a spark of hope flare to life in his chest.

It was the first coherent thing Sam had uttered since they came crushing through the motel room. Could it be possible...?

John met Dean's watery gaze over Sam's head. There was an unspoken question between them.

"Sammy?", John asked "You with us, son?"

Sam shakily lifted his head, blinking water from his eyes.

"D-dad? 's goin' on?"

John felt a crushing wave of relief as he nodded at Dean and reached into the shower stall to shut the water off.

He grabbed the towel from where Dean had laid it out on the sink and helped Sam up, steadying him as his shaky legs threatened to buckle beneath the weight of his body.

"Easy, easy...", John breathed, guiding his youngest to sit down on the closed toilet seat.

Dean came out stumbling after Sam, barely catching himself on the sink.

"Y'alright?" John asked, torn between helping Sam and steadying Dean, but his eldest was already halting him with a quick wave of his hand.

"'m okay. T-take care of S-sammy"

_Sure... _John rolled his eyes. Dean was just _peachy_.

"Go get dry and warmed up, son. I didn't just go through all that just to have you end up getting pneumonia. No hospitals, remember?"

Dean nodded and left the bathroom on shaky legs. John turned his gaze back to Sammy.

"'s g-goin' on?", his youngest repeated, frowning as he shivered with cold and confusion.

John rubbed the towel up and down Sam's body, trying to warm him. "You got a fever. We had to force it down."

He gently moved the towel over Sam's soggy hair strands. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The frown on Sam's face deepened, his eyes lazily focusing on the door. "Dad? 'm c-cold..."

John didn't like this.

Sam should have been much more coherent at this point.

Did they get him out too early?

He pressed his palm against his son's wet forehead and sighed. Room temperature. No fever, then.

That was good. Sam should be fine, right?

"How's he?", Dean's voice cut in from the doorway.

His eldest was still sickly pale, lips a light shade of blue and hair still dripping with water.

He was clothed in a new set of Jeans and a warm hoodie that looked suspiciously like one of Sam's.

John was about to answer, when Sam's eyes lit up in recognition. "Dean", he mumbled, trying to stand up, but John caught him by the shoulder and forced him back down.

"Take it easy, Sam. Your brother's right here."

Dean scuffled closer, dropping down next to John, eyes scrutinizing his little brother.

"Hey, Sammy", he said, lips twitching into a sad smile. He reached out to chase away a wayward tear from his brother's cold cheek. "How you holdin' up?"

"What h-happened? Did w-we... shower t-together?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, snickering softly despite the seriousness of the situation.

"_Dude._ Chicks would pay to get all wet and naked with me. Consider yourself lucky."

John felt a weight lift from his chest, finally able to breathe again as he watched Sam's features relax into a lazy half-smile.

"You're gross...", Sam grimaced, sniffing as he weakly shoved at Dean's shoulder.

"Bitch", Dean provoked lightly, his own smile growing.

Sam's lips trembled as he returned the sentiment. "Jerk", came the soft response and John felt like crying out loud in relief.

Just for a second everything felt normal again.

For a second their world was whole again.

Then his eyes dropped to the soaked bandage above Sam's collar-bone and John knew- things weren't over yet.  
_  
This was just the calm before the storm._

**_TBC..._**

* * *

_Alrighty, sorry for the late update guys ;) I was off to Bavaria on holiday ;) Hope you liked the new chapter, I promise much more heart-break, pain and a Sam-Dean bro-ment in the upcoming chapter ;) Let's just say John treated a symptome and not the underlying cause for Sam's fever. ;)  
Anyone interested in more?!  
Let me know what you think, your support means everything to me! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Lonely is the Night  
**_  
_**Chapter 6**_

There were a few unspoken rules in their family.

With the three of them practically living in each others pockets 24/7, inhabiting motel rooms and driving the Impala together and sometimes even sharing beds if money was tight, it was only reasonable- only _natural- _that they had set up a few ground rules to make living in each others space more bearable.

Mostly it was little things like not leaving the tooth paste uncapped, not drinking directly from the milk carton, not taking up the last of the hot water, and so on...

But there were other rules too, more important ones that were never openly adressed, yet strictly followed by every member of the Winchester clan.

Like not letting anything slip about their lives as hunters, not arousing unwanted suspicion (with nosy neighbours or overbearing high-school teachers), not -_under ANY circumstances_- asking John about Mary...and most importantly: Not being overly emotional.

Because in their line of work, showing emotions was synonymous with showing weakness.

And being weak wasn't in a Winchester's DNA. It also wasn't something they could afford in their line of business.

His sons needed to be tough hunters, capable of killing without hesitation and defending themselves at all costs.

There was no time for coddling, no matter how much Dean tried to shelter Sam from the ugliness of the outside world.

Sammy too, needed to toughen up at some point.

Maybe even more so than Dean, because he had always been the more emotional one of the two, always taking things more to heart, not afraid to show tears or start talking about his feelings.

But right now, given their current circumstances, John was willing to make an exception for his boys and let them have their well-earned chick flick moment.

If this situation didn't call for an overly emotional conversation, none ever would.

They couldn't ignore the huge elephant in the room for much longer.

This was definitely one of the things they needed to talk about- one of the rare occasions where ignoring the problem would only make it worse.

That's why John needed to know all the gory details of what had happened to his youngest, Chickflick moments be damned.

But first things first.

"I'm pretty sure he's got an infection, Bobby. Must have been the goddamn' bite...", John murmured into the speaker of the phone, exhaustion evident in his voice.

He was pacing the ground in front of the motel room, occasionally throwing a glance through the window to check on his boys.

After Sam had become more aware of his surroundings, they had bundled him up in a fresh set of loosely fitting sweat pants and a couple of blankets while John took a few minutes to call the grumpy mechanic for help.

Sam's fever had broken after the shower but that didn't mean he was completely out of the woods yet.

Apparently bites caused by human teeth were particularly dangerous due to the highly infectious bacteria that invaded the tissue. Once the micro-organism was rooted deep enough inside the host's flesh, it was practically impossible to get rid of, unless of course you had the necessary medical supplies.

_Who would have thought that getting bitten by a human being could cause them so much trouble?  
_  
John sure as fuck hadn't.

"I don't know what to do, Bobby...", the gruff hunter admitted, voice dangerously close to breaking.

He knew that his relationship with Bobby was strained at best, but he was also aware that the mechanic had always had a soft spot for his boys.

And John wasn't above using that to his advantage. "I know I am probably not your favorite person at the moment, but I don't have anyone else to call and I could really use a favor right now-"

There was a clang of glass hitting wood on the other end of the line and John felt his own tongue itching for a strong gulp of whisky.

"Damnit Bobby, this is _Sam_ we're talking about, do you want me to fucking beg you?"

Because he would. He would fall to his knees and start begging in a heartbeat if it meant Bobby would help them.

There was another beat of silence before Bobby finally answered.

"You're a fucking bastard, John. Those boys deserve so much better than that."

John squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. He knew they deserved better. He was a terrible father, had made terrible mistakes in raising them, John _knew_ that.

But they were still his boys- still Mary's children and John couldn't lose them. Not at any cost.

"You gonna _fucking_ help me or not, Bobby?!", he snapped.

Bobby sighed.

"I'll be there in about 5 hours, 6 at the most. Try to keep his fucking temperature down in the meanwhile and for christ's sake, John- take the boy to a hospital if he needs it, ye' hear me?"

There was an underlying threat in Bobby's voice, but John chose to ignore it.

"_Thank you_", he choked out, unable to express the full extent of his gratitude.

Bobby grumbled a response and hung up.

And that was John's cue to get back to his boys.

They were both exactly the way he had left them, with Dean lazily perched up against the headboard of the bed and Sam practically plastered against his brother's side.

The TV was running but John could tell that neither of his sons was paying much attention.

"That was Bobby", John explained as he dropped down next to them and gently placed his palm against Sam's forehead. It was warm, but not too hot.

He was gonna have to check Sam's temperature more regularly now. Just in case...

"He's gonna snatch you some antibiotics from the hospital on his way here."

Sam bit his swollen lower lip, frowning slightly.

Something was bothering him, John could tell. "What's up, kiddo?"

"So you told Bobby?", his youngest asked with a mixture of shame and betrayal flickering in his eyes. John sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

"Yeah, Sam. I did. You need help and I wasn't about to leave you two on your own after what happened."

Dean flicked the TV off and sat a little straighter, immediately sensing the change in mood.

Sam went a little rigid as well, like a Cobra getting ready to strike.

"It's not like you ever cared about leaving us alone before...", he shot back without real heat in his voice, but the words packed a punch nonetheless.

John was rendered speechless for a second, heart pounding painfully in his chest as he tried to recover from his son's harsh accusation.

"I'm not gonna discuss this with you, Sam.", he growled, voice dangerously low in warning. "You need medicine and Bobby is gonna bring it to us. _End of story."  
_  
Dean seemed to notice the tension, eyes shifting from John to Sam and back again, probably trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation.

But before he could say or do anything to stop their discussion from going any further, the fight somehow left Sam and he went lax against his brother's chest, probably still too weak to have a full-blown quarrel with John.

The disappointed look, however, didn't entirely fade from Sam's battered face.

John clenched his jaw, knowing that Sammy wasn't going to like this next part either. He sought out Dean's watchful eyes, trying to convey how much he needed Dean's support for what was about to come. Or rather- how much Sam was gonna need his brother's support for what was about to come.

"Sammy...", John started haltingly "I need you to tell me what happened back there, okay? All of it."

Sam's reaction was one of pure denial. He instantly averted his eyes, fingers clenching in Dean's sweater, as if to keep his older brother from running off again.

John ignored the unusual clinginess, writing it off as a temporary aftermath from the emotional trauma Sam had experienced.

"I'm sorry son. But I need you to tell me..."

_I need to know you're gonna be fine. _  
_I need to know the extent of your pain. _  
_I need to know every single thing that was done to you, so that I can kill that son a of a bitch slowly and without a sliver of guilt or remorse...  
_  
When Sam didn't start talking immediately, John tried a different method to get the conversation flowing. Maybe things would be easier for Sam if he knew that his big brother had already offered up some information to John earlier.

"Dean told me...", John cleared his throat, checking Dean's face for any sign of discomfort at him breaching the topic of their earlier conversation.  
But Dean's features were kept carefully blank.

"He told me the landlord was... behaving _intrusively._ Is that true?"

Even as the words left his mouth, John felt their inadequacy and awkwardness.

He wished Mary was here to do this. She would know exactly what words to use.

As if on cew Sammy cringed and Dean pulled a grimace, running his hand up his little brother's spine in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

"It's alright Sammy...we can do this some other time."

John flashed Dean a warning glare. He wanted to finally get some answers out of Sam.

They couldn't delay this anymore and Dean knew it!

But when Sam drew in a shuddering breath, shoulders tensing beneath his brother's soft touch, John knew he didn't have to worry. Sam had already made his decision.

"The guy was ogling Dean-", the boy softly started, shooting his older brother an almost apologetic look before continuing. "Like all the freaking time."

John nodded, silently urging Sam to continue.

"Dean was trying to play it off as nothing because he didn't want me to freak out. But I could see it bothered him. It bothered me too. It was fucking creepy..."

"But it was just Dean back then, right?" John interrupted. "He never said anything to you? Looked at you weird?"

Sam's eyes narrowed dangerously before John got a chance to realize his mistake._  
_

"_J__ust Dean?_ What do you mean with _'just Dean'?! _Don't you think it's bad enough that some freakin' perve practically undressed _him_ with his eyes every time he turned his back?! You think that was fun to watch? "

"_Sam-_", Dean cut in from the side, voice sharp and angry as he withdrew his arm from around his brother's shoulder.

Sam had the decency to look a little sheepish as he straightened up, eyes never wavering from his father's cold glare.

But he didn't apologize either, never one to back away from a fight.

Usually John appreciated that characteristic about his younger son. But not today.

Sam had taken things a little too far this time.

"You got something to say to me, Samuel? _**Then**_ _**Say it**__."  
_  
"Sammy, shut your mouth", Dean intervened harshly, not giving his brother the chance to respond.

_Typically Dean. _John supressed the urge to roll his eyes. _Always gladly taking up the role as the peacekeeper.  
_  
John got up from the bed, his whole posture rigid with the anger that cursed through his body.

"You trying to say I don't _care_ about your brother, Sam?!"

Rationally John knew he shouldn't do this.  
He had only wanted Sam to explain what had happened earlier. It had never been his intention to start a fight with his youngest.

And Sam was still shaken up, probably still a little out of it (or that would at least explain why he would say something so stupid).

But John wasn't really thinking straight either and he couldn't let Sam's accusation stand like that. No matter what.

Nobody got to say John didn't love his boys equally and get away with it. Not even Sam himself.  
"You think I would rather have _Dean _in your place? Is that it? _Answer me, boy_!"

"Dad-", Dean pleaded desperately, eyes begging John not to say another word.  
But the damage was already done. There was no going back now.

Sam blanched at his father's tone.  
"No", he croaked, lower lip trembling as if he had only just now realized the absurdity of what he had suggested with his earlier words. "No I-I didn't say-That's not what I meant-"

"Well then maybe you should use your brain before talking"

John was furious. He drew satisfaction from the way Sam dropped his gaze in shame, fingers clenching and unclenching on the bed sheets.

Dean was looking anywhere but at John, trying and failing to hide how much their little family dispute had affected him.

His whole body was coiled tight with tension, pulsing with the urge to run off once more.

This conversation had riled Dean up more than John was comfortable with.

His son had issues, John was aware of that, but this really shouldn't be one of them.

Dean had to know- without the flicker of a doubt- that John didn't favor Sam over him. That John had in fact- never preferred either one of his son's over the other. Not even for a second.

Sure, Sammy was younger. And John treated them differently- always being a little more demanding on Dean, a little harder on him than on his younger brother. But that had nothing to do with John's love for his boys. It was just a natural pecking order- a differentiation based on age difference and physical strength. Dean had to know that, right?

John took a deep calming breath before sitting back down on the bed. This was something they would need to talk about as well, he realized.

But right now there were other things they needed to take care of. Dean would have to wait.

"Okay let's try this again... tell me what happened after the night your heater acted up."

Sam hesitated, eyes still trained on his completely stricken brother. When it became clear that Dean wasn't about to stop pouting anytime soon, Sam finally turned back to look at John with a mixture of guilt and regret on his face.

"Dean told me you didn't wanna run, so what happened afterwards?", John further pushed and Sam swallowed, shaking his head.

"I felt sick the next day...must have gotten a cold or something after the heater fell out... Dean only went to get me some Tylenol from the 7 eleven across the street. He was barely ten minutes gone when someone banged their fist agains the d-door..."

_**TBC...**_

* * *

_I know I promised a bro-ment in this chapter, but John and Sam kinda developed a life of their own and started a stupid fight instead :PPP hahaha... _  
_Freaking stubborn Winchester pack, right? :P_  
_Next chapter will finally reveal everything about Sam's attack. I am planning to put make it a flashback, if you guys approve of the idea ;)_  
_As always your comments and general support are GREATLY appreciated!  
Please drop a few words to let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you are still interested in more! :D_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Lonely is the night  
**_  
_**Chapter 7**_

**~Flashback Part 1~**

_It was their third motel in two months and even for Winchester standards, that was too much._

_Usually their Dad tried to stick around for a little while whenever he caught wind of a new hunt to make sure Sam and Dean could enroll in school and take their classes -at least for a few months before they had to leave again._

_But Dean had finished school now, finally old enough to leave this chapter of his life in the rearview mirror and Sam was in the middle of winter break which meant they didn't have to worry about anything school-related for the moment._

_And without being able to use school as a (more or less) valid argument in his never-ending fights with his father, Sam was left with no other choice but to tag along with his family, doing research and spending most of his time in stuffy old libraries or ratty motel rooms while they went on hunts._

_This time was no different. John had gotten a call from an old army friend, who had taken to hunting a couple of years back and asked their dad for help._  
_It was a solo-hunt, their dad had explained, as they hightailed it out of the city. A one-man job._

_All they had to do was wait until he was done._

_The gravel crunched beneath the tires of the Impala as John rolled up to the parking lot, settling the car in a vacant spot in front of the motel reception._

_One glance out of the car window was enough to make Sam wish they had never left their last accommodation in Wisconsin a few hours ago._

_The building in front of him was one of the worst kind- the kind that usually only attracted druggies or prostitutes._

_Broken bits of plaster were hanging off the grey façade of the sleazy motel, ruined by decay and long-lasting exposure to the toxic fumes of the passing traffic._

_The windows looked as if they had never seen a drop of water before, covered in several layers of dust and grime and preventing any sunlight from entering the rooms._

_Sam felt his insides clench with revulsion at the thought of spending the night here._

_"Seriously, dad?", he started letting his gaze wander from the flickering motel sign to his father. "This place is a dump..."_

_In fact, the motel looked like the perfect set-up for a grade B horror movie. His father couldn't seriously expect them to stay here._

_But John didn't seem fazed._

_"It's the only place with vacant rooms I've come across the past few hours, Sam. So unless you want to spend the night in the car, I suggest you stow the attitude and get moving."_

_Sam sighed, suppressing the urge to point out that yes, in fact he would prefer a night in the car a thousand times over a night in this shithole, because the prospect of a stiff neck was way more appealing than the prospect of getting cut into little pieces by some psycho-serial-killer._

_But instead he kept his mouth shut, knowing there was no point in arguing once his father had made up his mind._

_The only thing it would get him would be ten extra laps during their daily morning workout._

_Besides, Sam had to admit that he was more than a little tired from the endless hours of driving and he couldn't deny that a shower and a bed sounded too appealing to be turned down at this point._

_John and Dean had already gotten out of the car, when Sam dragged himself out after them, stumbling as his foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk._

_John rolled his eyes at his son's clumsiness and Dean snorted "Watch your feet, ballerina", he laughed and reached out to ruffle Sam's hair, but Sam easily outstepped him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'll watch them kicking your as-"_

_"Sam.", John reprimanded sharply, never tolerating their banter for very long if he was close enough to hear it._

_Sam clenched his jaw, glowering at his older brother, while Dean kept on grinning with a smug expression on his face. Of course, John had to be on Dean's side. Dean could do no wrong, after all. He was the good son. The good little soldier that John needed._

_Not like Sam, who was too clumsy to walk a straight line without stumbling over his own feet._

_Sam's self-pity was cut short when John's cell phone started ringing. The hunter dug his wallet out of his pocket, handing it to Dean._

_ "Go get us a room. Two queens, for ten days. Pay in advance.", he instructed before he started the conversation on his phone and turned to get their bags ready._

_Sam was tempted to stick close and eavesdrop on his dad's phone call, but there was something about this place that made him feel like he shouldn't let Dean out of his sight._

_Making up his mind, he jogged up to his brother, lightly elbowing him and receiving a jab to the head as they entered the small reception of the motel._

_Once inside, Sam immediately wanted to turn around and leave again._

_The place was even creepier than first expected, with dark wood covering the walls and an ugly green rag with smoke burns spread across the tiles on the floor._

_Stuffed animals were filling up the dusty shelves around them and a small TV crackled on static in the corner behind the vacant reception desk._

_On instinct, Sam edged a little closer to his brother's side, feeling a chill of discomfort dwindle down his spine. Dean either didn't notice, or didn't comment on it, as he hit the dusty bell on the wooden desk._

_"Anyone in here?" His voice reverberated off the walls._

_When there was no reaction, Dean turned to look at Sam, snickering softly. "You think old Mrs. Bates will pay us a visit tonight?"_

_Sam couldn't find it in himself to laugh. Given the way this place looked, he wouldn't be surprised if the owner was at least a little bit off his rocker. That didn't have to mean he dressed up like his mother and ran off at night to stab people in the heart though... or at least that was what Sam hoped._

_"Maybe we should skip the shower, just to be safe-"_

_"Dean.", Sam warned in a low voice, when the door behind them was opened with a rusty squeak._

_They both watched a man in his late fifties enter the room, a grim expression on his face. He had lank greasy hair and wore a ratty pair of jeans with a stained undershirt that looked like it had been worn for a month straight without getting washed._

_Now Sam wasn't one to judge people based on their appearance or anything, but this guy just had too big of a resemblance to your average serial-killer on TV, to make him feel comfortable._

_And coupled with the way this whole place looked he was about ready to grab Dean and make a run for their lives._

_"What'ye want?", the guy grumbled as he plopped down in the leather recliner next to the TV._

_Dean seemed speechless for a moment._

_"Uhm, we need a room for a couple of nights. You have any left?"_

_Sam doubted there was another soul on this planet crazy enough to check in at this place. Apart from his dumbass brother ( and father), that was of course..._

_"Ye got some ID, boy?", the clerk asked snidely, running his eyes up and down Dean's body in a way that made Sam's blood turn cold. "I aint giving shit to ye punk-ass beggars if ye can't pay me properly or give me any kind of trouble. And don't think ye can bring yer customers in here, soiling my blankets and screamin' yer brains out at night-"_

_Sam felt his blood run cold at the man's condescending words and the implication behind them. Was this guy seriously thinking they were...?_

_What was wrong with him?! Couldn't he see how young they were?_

_Sam's features turned into a mask of horror and disgust. He clenched his fingers into fists and watched Dean's face smoothe out into professional blankness, masking his own anger carefully._

_"Yeah I bet you wouldn't want to tarnish the excellent reputation of a **shithole** like this. Well don't you worry, we are just passing through."_

_Sam felt a flicker of satisfaction at the way the receptionist's eyes widened in shock when Dean slammed a credit card onto the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently against the wooden counter._

_For a second he thought the guy would snap at them and tell them to get the fuck out, but to their surprise the clerk started smiling devilishly instead, appreciative glimmer in his eyes._

_"Feisty, aint'cha?" he chuckled as he jotted down the name from the credit card and handed Dean a key along with a thin paper slip and a pen. "How long are ye stayin for?"_

_"Ten days, maybe less.", Dean replied curtly, ignoring the comment from earlier in favor of signing the slip. The guy took one look at it and snorted. "So ye are 31, Mr. Matters?", he drawled out sarcastically, raising his bushy eyebrows._

_Dean didn't bat an eye._

_"Sure, am. Wanna see my birth certificate too, or are we good to go now?"_

_In lieu of an answer, the guy turned his full attention on Sam, leaning forward against the counter. "And ye are 25 then I guess?", he laughed, winking at the teenager and before Sam could say anything in response, Dean was standing between them, effectively blocking Sam from the guy's sight._

_"Hey! You don't fucking talk to him, understand?", his brother snarled at the man, voice dangerously low._

_Sam rested a calming palm against his brother's tense back, wondering if he should do anything. But the clerk must have backed off, because Dean's shoulders relaxed a little and just like that the moment was broken._

_"C'mon", Dean said, ushering Sam out of the foyer and into the cool evening air._

_Sam threw a last glance over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't when he caught a glimpse of the guy watching Dean's retreating back, eyes tracking his brother's every move with a lewd smile on his face._

_"That was creepy...", Sam said leaning a bit closer to Dean as they made their way to the Impala, were John was already waiting for them._

_He had expected some kind of smartass response from his brother, but Dean seemed to be deeply in thought, his face unreadable._

_"What the heck took you boys so long?", John demanded angrily throwing a duffle bag at them and reaching a hand out for the key. Dean hesitated._

_"Dad-", he sighed a little reluctant to move all of a sudden. Sam held his breath, silently cheering him on, wanting Dean to tell their father what had just happened inside. How uncomfortable they had both felt in the clerk's presence, how they didn't want to stay here, not even for one night._

_But one look at John's unforgiving face was enough to make Dean falter._

_"Nothing...It's just-...when are you leaving?"_

_John snatched the keys from Dean's hand and started moving towards their motel room at the end of the parking lot._

_"Tomorrow morning. Henry just called me to give me his coordinates, if I head out before sunset, I could get there in less than 2 hours..."_

_Sam shuddered. Spending one night here with their dad was already a scary enough thought, but spending another 10 days here without him? That was just too much._

_If Dean was being a pussy about this, Sam would take matters into his own hands._

_"So you really don't have any concerns leaving us here for so long, dad? I mean have you **looked **at the place?!"_

_John opened the door, flicked the lights on and threw his duffle bag on the bed closest to the door, just like he always did._

_The room was dusty, filled with stale air and one degree short of freezing._

_Dean shoved past him, already going for the box of salt he carried in his bag._

_"This isn't any different from other places we've stayed at. And no, Sam, I think I should be able to leave my teenage sons alone for a few days without having to worry they might get themselves into too much trouble. Don't try to prove me wrong and we're fucking golden."_

_Sam huffed, crossing his bony arms in front of his chest._

_He didn't sleep well that first night. And neither did Dean._

_He could tell from the way his brother was breathing irregularly beside him, shoulders rigid beneath the thin sheet that covered them both as he watched the door from beneath heavy eyelids._

_It was the knowledge that Dean kept watch, coupled with the sound of their father's soft snoring that finally dragged Sam under into an uneasy sleep._

_Come morning, their father had left them to fend for themselves, unaware of the figure that creeped closer from the shadows as soon as he was gone._

_The figure lingered there, half hidden by darkness and pressed a flat hand against the smudged windows, breathing shallow and heavy as he watched the two boys sleep._

_They had no idea what was coming for them..._

**TBC...  
**

* * *

_Gahh, I know I know, I promised to give a flashback on Sam's attack, and this is not it yet, please forgive me :-s But I couldn't help to go a little bit further back in time, to set the mood for the terrible things that are to come...haha I sincerely hope this is okay ;)  
I intended to make only one flashback chapter, but since I was super nervous about writing Sam's Pov and introducing the bad guy to the story, I wanted to hear your opinions first and decided to cut it in half.  
If you are up for more, I will try to post the second half of the flashback either tomorrow or the day after and finally reveal what happened to these boys  
;) Thanks as always for your continuous support! It's what keeps me motivated to write more and it totally brightens my day :D  
So please tell me what you think, keep on reading and commenting. I will be back with more soon! _


	8. Chapter 8

**Lonely is the Night  
**  
**Chapter 8**

**~Flashback Part 2~**

* * *

**Warning:** _I already mentioned this at the beginning of the story, but just in case you don't know where this chapter is headed, I will put another warning here for violence, sexual assault and bad language (for anyone who has followed the story this far, they already know my writing contains a lot of swearing :PP)  
_

* * *

Waking up felt like breaking the surface of the ocean after several hours underwater.

His limbs were heavy and his mind was clouded by jumbled thoughts and hazy memories. They were assaulting him in waves, trying to drag him back under but Sam fought harder, gasping for breath as he shot up in bed, pulse racing.

There was darkness all around him, his own harsh breathing cutting through the silence as he tried to gather his bearings.

What happened? Where was he?

Sam squeezed his eyes shot, trying to remember.

That was, until he heard someone shifting on the bed next to his own.

"S'mmy?", a groggy voice asked from his right and just like that the events of the past few days came rushing back to him.

"Dean", Sam breathed out in relief, taking in the shadowy outline of his brother's strong shoulders and sleep-tousled hair.

The rough linen sheets scraping against his skin and the stench of mould and dust permeating the air were further testament to their current whereabouts.

Duluth, Minnesota, that's were they were.

In a piss-poor excuse of a motel at the edge of town, with twenty dollars to their name and an absent father that could be dead for all they knew.

It had been eight days since John had left them.

Eight fucking days without as much as a freaking phone call to let them know he was okay and to be honest, Sam wasn't sure what he would tell their father if he actually did get around to call them.

_Oh don't you worry dad, we are just great. Yesterday we went to the spa and got ourselves the all-in-one-treatment, oh and by the way, the creepy-ass receptionist was trying to blackmail Dean into sleeping with him...  
_  
Because- yeah, that would have gone down so well.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing and force his heartbeat down.

He could still see the events of last night so clearly in his head. Could still see the way the guy had leered at Dean and sidled up to him, like he had any fucking right to be this close to his brother. To invade his personal space and touch him.

The mere thought was making Sam furious.

And as if that hadn't been bad enough, the perverted freak had taken things a step further- trying to threaten them with CPS. Making Dean a real fucking generous _offer_.

"Hey," Dean's voice- suddenly heavy with concern- interrupted his trail of thoughts. "Y'alright?"

There was some more shifting and even in the near pitch black of the room, Sam could see his brother sit up in the bed across from him, hands automatically going for the gun beneath his pillow.

They had taken turns keeping watch after the events of last night, too afraid to let their guard down completely with the threat of CPS looming over their heads and a freaking pervert living next door.

But somewhere along the way, Sam must have fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry", he breathed, feeling a stab of guilt pierce his heart. "I-I'm sorry Dean, I must have nodded off- I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay", Dean was quick to reassure. "It was about time for me to take over anyway..."

Sam threw a quick glance at the alarm clock on the night stand between them. 4:30. Sun would be up in about an hour or two.

Thank god... Not that it would make their situation better or anything, but there was still something about the darkness that made Sam's chest tighten, paralyzing him with fear.

Sam looked up, squinting against the gloom when the mattress dipped beside him. "Scoot over, jerkface", Dean teased softly as he settled down on the pillow next to him and it wasn't until then that Sam's heartbeat slowly calmed.

The two of them stayed silent for a little while, still too riled up to be falling asleep, both sets of eyes trained on the door as if someone might try to break it down any second.

Sam inched a little closer to Dean, seeking out his brother's body heat and drawing his knees up against the cold that seeped through the cheap material of their blanket.

The heater was still broken, of course.

That fucking perve had been too busy trying to get into Dean's pants to even notice the heater- let alone repair it.

And by now the temperature had dropped noticeably, leaving both of them shivering in several layers of clothes.

Sam felt tears well up in his eyes, as he snuggled even closer to Dean, reaching out a tentative hand to clutch at his brother's faded ACDC shirt.

"Dean, I'm sorry", he whispered once more, not even sure what he was apologizing for this time.

He couldn't help thinking that maybe... just maybe if he hadn't been so whiny last night and just dealt with the cold instead, Dean wouldn't have called the landlord to their room and none of this would have happened.

Then they wouldn't have to be afraid that the next time they opened their eyes, a social worker would be there, ready to separate them forever and put them into foster care.

Sam swallowed, feeling a first tear escape his brimming eyes, before a thumb caught it and gently wiped it away.

"Hey, none of that", his brother chided softly. "We're gonna be just fine Sammy. The guy was just bluffing, alright?"

"But what if he wasn't?", Sam whined, no longer able to hold his worries at bay.

He had been the one convincing Dean to stay here, because they didn't have anywhere else to go.

But what if he had been wrong and the guy would make true on his promise? The thought of some social worker sweeping them away was more terrifying than anything.

No monster could compete to the constant threat CPS constituted to their lives.

Because these people working for the state would take them away from their dad and make them orphans once and for all.

They would take away the only parent Sam had ever known and then take away Dean too, separating them forever.

A shaky sob broke free from Sam's throat and he shook his head, unable -and _unwilling_- to imagine a life without his brother.

Because as much as Sam had craved a 'normal' apple-pie life, he knew without the flicker of a doubt that he would never want any of that white-picket-fence, if Dean wasn't part of it.

"Tell me you won't leave", Sam whimpered, hating how weak he sounded even as he clenched the fabric of Dean's shirt tighter between his fingers.

He would never let go again, if it meant his brother would stay by his side.

The heavy arm that settled on Sam's shoulder, was a small comfort.

"Leave you?", Dean snorted lightheartedly, resting his palm against the nape of Sam's neck. "As if... You're stuck with me forever, little brother."

Sam sniffed, yet unaware of the deep meaning and the irrevocable truth that was rooted behind those words, a future path that was already set in stone to be walked side by side, obstacles to be overcome together.

Always together.

Dean's fingers squeezed his neck for emphasis and Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "You feel a little hot", his big brother muttered, letting his hand slip around to Sam's forehead, testing his temperature.

Sam swallowed, feeling a slight sting in his throat. He hadn't really noticed it being sore earlier. But now that he thought about it, his nose felt a little clogged too.

Well shit,... things just kept getting better and better.

"Damnit Sammy", Dean sighed, reaching to the nightstand to turn on the light.

Sam squinted, watching quietly while Dean got off the bed and dropped down next to their duffel bag. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting sick?", he accused sifting through the contents of the bag without looking up.

Sam huffed, leaning back against the headboard. "Well gee, sorry Dean. I was kinda preoccupied with the asshole that wants to jump your bones!"

It was almost funny, how quickly they could switch from worried and depressed to being pissed in the span of only a few seconds.

Sam pinched the base of his nose, trying to stop the throbbing pain that started to form behind his eyes from getting any worse. "It's not even that bad, Dean. Just chill out, okay? I'm sure it's just a cold or something..."

Dean sighed and dropped to his knees as he shot Sam an exasperated look. "Even if it's just a cold, it could get worse without treatment. And we can't wait for it to develop into a fucking lung infection, okay? That's not gonna happen, kiddo. Not on my watch."

"It's not gonna get any worse!", Sam argued, rolling his eyes at his brother's protectiveness.

"Well you don't know that for sure and we can't take the risk, Sam, so drop it." After another minute of unsuccessful searching, Dean swore under his breafth, causing Sam to stop his pouting and look up.

"What?"

Turns out they forgot to stock up on medicine after having used all the Ibuprofen during their last hunt, when Dean had taken a particularly harsh blow to the head, resulting in a vicious migraine. And they didn't have any Tylenol either, because their Dad had taken the last of it to treat his latest hangover.

Just freaking great.

Sam was about to start begging Dean to come back to bed and let it go, when his brother came up with the dumbest idea. Ever.

"Forget about it, Dean!", Sam ground out in frustration, hitting the blanket with his clenched fists. His brother had to be out of his freaking mind if he thought Sam would let Dean go anywhere on his own with a fucking psycho-stalker on the loose. "You are not doing it!"

"Is that an order Sam? You are aware that I am the older one, right, that _I_ am the one in charge?"

"Yeah well, apparently that doesn't stop you from being a dumbass!"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him and Sam swallowed, feeling sorry for being so rude but not willing to back down either. "I am freaking fine! I feel fantastic, now can you please- _please_- come back to bed and fucking drop it?"

Sam pulled out the heavy artillery and widened his eyes, staring at Dean imploringly. His big brother had always been prone to the puppy-dog-eyes (as he liked to call it) and Sam wasn't above using that to his advantage if it meant his brother wouldn't get himself into trouble.

Predictably, Dean caved at the sight and his shoulders dropped, the fight visibly leaving his body as he strode forward towards Sam's bed and dropped back down on the mattress.

Sam waited for his brother to get settled before pulling the blanket up around both of them and snuggling back against Dean's side.

"You're a little bitch, you know that?"

Sam smiled.

"I know."

"Don't come whining to me when you get pneumonia...", Dean grumbled grouchily and pulled Sam even closer against his side, letting his actions contradict his words. "I will totally let dad play nurse Ratchet when you end up sick like a dog-"

"Shut up, jerk.", Sam muttered, feeling his eye lids growing heavier with each passing second. The sound of his brother's heart beat was slowly lulling him back to sleep, and Sam swallowed, feeling that the pain in his throat had already intensified in the short time they had argued.

"D'n?", he asked sleepily, rubbing his nose against his brother's shirt. "Promise not to leave...?"

There was silence, a hand brushing against Sam's back wiping the last traces of discomfort from his mind.

"Promise, Sammy. I'll be here when you wake up."

And that was all it took to let sleep claim him. Dean never broke his promises. Everything was going to be okay.

Or so he thought.

* * *

The next time Sam woke up, he was alone, momentarily startled by the stark absence of a body next to him.

It took about three seconds before he started panicking.

"Dean?", he called out, his own voice echoing loudly through the empty room as he jumped up fumbling hectically with the sheets, trying to free himself in his haste to get to the bathroom. He ripped the door open, heart dropping upon finding nothing but a vacant shower stall and an unoccupied toilet.

"DEAN!", he screamed once again, ignoring the pain that shot through his throbbing head at his own yelling as he scanned the motel room for any signs of forced entry or any form of struggle. Anything that would explain why his brother wasn't here, right by his side when he had promised not to leave Sam on his own.

His heart was hammering in his chest, breath coming in shallow little pants, as he stumbled through the room mindless with the fear that something might have happened to Dean. That his brother had been snatched away right under his nose while Sam had been sound asleep.

But his frantic search came to a sudden halt when there was a loud banging on the door.

Ready to start crying with relief, Sam's heart skipped a beat and his shoulders sagged as he rushed forward. _His brother was back- he was okay, Dean was okay, he was here, everything would be alright.  
_  
And Sam should have fucking known _better,_ than to open the door without checking first. He should have known better than to open it at all. Because Dean would never risk waking Sam like that- scaring him like that, when he could have used a key to open the door instead.

But Sam wasn't thinking rationally anymore, mind clouded with fear and sickness. All logic thought had abandoned him as he turned the knob with shaking fingers, not realizing his mistake until it was already too late.

Because the man in front of him wasn't Dean.

It was the motel clerk. And he had a vindictive glimmer in his eyes.

Sam froze, his mind screaming orders that his body refused to follow.

Time seemed to stand still.

It seemed that for a moment, the only working part of him was his heart, beating wildly- frantically- against his ribcage as the seconds ticked by.

And then all hell broke loose.

Ripping himself out of his rigor, Sam tried to quickly slam the door closed again, but was halted when the guy put his whole leg through the doorway, pushing against the slab of hardwood with all of his body weight.

"Now, don't ye think it's a bit rude to treat a guest like that?", the guy snarled, as Sam stemmed his own back against the door and pressed against it with as much force as he could muster.

"Go to hell!", he growled and stomped down on the guy's foot. Hard. The action elicited a pained groan from his attacker and Sam felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound.

He used the precious moment of distraction to scan the insides of the motel room for any kind of weapon, instinctively knowing that Dean had probably taken their only gun with him when he had left (- no doubt to go get Sam the fucking medicine).

His eyes landed on on the small lamp on the night stand between their beds. Its post appeared to be made of plaster. Maybe if he could cross over there quickly enough...

"Open up you little bastard!"

The angry growl was supported by a few vicious kicks against the door, rattling the wood in its bolts, causing the panic in Sam to kick up another notch.

Even if he could hold his current position (which he doubted, given the way his legs already trembled from the strain), Sam was pretty sure that the door wasn't steady enough to survive another onslaught of the guy's steel capped boots.

And given the fact that the guy freaking owned the place, chances were high that he even had a second key to the room somewhere...

So he had to get ready for a fight, because this man was gonna get into the room one way or another.

_Think Sam, think goddamnit!_ What would Dad do? What would Dean do?

_Nothing, _his mind unhelpfully supplied, _- because they wouldn't have been stupid enough to get into a situation like that in the first place!_

This wasn't helping...

Making up his mind and steeling his resolve, Sam pushed away from the door and stormed over to the nightstand, grasping the lamp post and ripping the electric cord out of the socket.

Caught off guard from the sudden loss of counter balance against the door, the guy stumbled forward into the room and never saw what was coming for him as Sam rammed the lamp against his skull.

The man dropped to the ground with an agonized howl and Sam watched with a sick sense of pride and satisfaction as thick red rivulets of blood started to stream from the gash across the guy's hairline.

But his momentary relief was short-lived, because the next second the man was grasping his ankle in a steel grip and pulled strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Sam tried to kick the guy in the face, fingers fumbling to reach for the lamp he had dropped on his downfall, but the man was quicker, slamming a fist into Sam's abdomen, causing him to cry out at the blinding white pain that seared through his insides.

"You think you can _fuck_ with me, boy?!", the guy spat out so furiously that Sam could feel little drops of saliva splattering against his skin.

He tried to curl up on the dirty ground, knees instinctively drawn up to protect his middle as he gasped for breath, but the guy didn't give him time to recover.

Driving a meaty fist into Sam's thick brown curls, he harshly ripped the boy's head up into the air only to slam it back down against the ground.

"I will show you what it means to fuck with me, you little twink! _You will fucking wish you weren't born once I'm through with you!_"

Sam choked on a groan as his vision started darkening. The room around him started swimming in and out of focus, the figure in front of him nothing but a blurred patch of colors, while he weakly clawed at the man's chest, his arms- _anything_ in his reach to fight him off.

He must have gotten in a lucky punch or something, because the harsh fingers clawing at Sam's head suddenly disappeared, leaving him writhing disorientedly on the ground.

"I'm gonna fucking show you your place, boy!", the angry voice snarled and just as Sam was about to gather enough strength to start another attack, he was slapped viciously across the face, the momentum of the blow knocking his head back to the ground once more. "_Stay the fuck down!_"

Sam's cheeks throbbed with stinging pain and he could feel warm liquid on his lips, could taste the bitter tang of blood on his tongue, as his head rolled from one side to the other.

He blinked, sluggishly trying to clear his vision when a heavy weight settled on his waist, making him panic. "You know...", the guy started conversationally from where he sat atop of Sam's midriff, keeping the struggling teenager in place. "None of this would be happening if your brother had been a little bit more... _amicable_ towards me"

As if to emphasize his point the guy rocked his hips against Sam's, causing the teenager's back to arch up from the ground with revulsion. "Get off you sick bastard! Get the fuck off of me!", he screamed, renewing his struggles to free himself from the man's hold, as he lashed out with flying fists and buckled up from the floor.

But his efforts were useless.

Between his earlier exhaustion from the sickness and the blurred vision he had gotten from the harsh blow to his head, it was easy for the man (who was twice Sam's size) to restrain him.

The guy harshly grabbed Sam's arms and pinned the boy's wrists to the ground above his head, rendering him completely immobile.

Leaving him helpless and vulnerable like no trained hunter had any right to be.

And even in his confused and pained state, Sam's thoughts wandered to his family, idly wondering what they would be thinking of him if they could see him right now.

"Please, let me go..."

Dean wouldn't beg. Sam had never heard his brother beg for a single thing in his life.

Dean would never stoop so low.

But Sam wasn't like Dean. Wasn't as strong as his brother- would probably never be as strong and brave as the rest of his family. He wasn't a hunter either. Or a soldier. Or any of the other crap his father wanted him to be.

He was just a goddamned kid! Just a teenager, for christ's sake, and right this second- he was scared shitless.

He didn't want to die. Didn't want his family to find his dead body in some run-down motel room, mutilated by some crazy pervert. He didn't want them to see how weak he had been, how quickly he had been overpowered by someone who didn't have the same training- the same knowledge that Sam had grown up with.

But most of all he didn't want to leave them behind, didn't want to let them drown in the sea of guilt and revenge that would no doubt swallow them whole if he was about to die at the hands of this bastard.

Sam forced himself to look beseechingly into his tormentor's eyes and tried to seek out any sign of humanity- of compassion- in the man's icy gaze.

"Just, please- don't do this", he implored. "My family-"

_...would fucking kill you if you go any further than this?_

_...would drive the Impala down a bridge or against a street lamp if they ever found me dead?_

Sam wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but it didn't seem to matter anyway. The guy just snorted angrily, tightening his grasp on Sam's wrists, cutting off the blood supply.

"Shut the fuck up and listen, kid! As I was trying to say-", he grinned, shifting Sam's captured wrists so that only one of his hands was holding them down, while his other hand was free to slowly run down Sam's chest, causing the boy to shudder. "I wanted your _fucking brother_ and not you..."

Sam swallowed as the man's fingers dipped beneath his shirt, wandering across the trembling skin. "But your brother wasn't interested", the man growled, lowering his head to sniff at Sam's neck. "Apparently I wasn't good enough for_ pretty-boy_, so now I'm gonna have to make do with his next of kin-"

"You're fucking sick!", Sam spat out angrily and then gasped in shock and disgust when the man dipped his head lower, to start nipping and sucking at the vulnerable skin on the side of his throat. "NO! Get off- s-stop it, stop-"

Sam struggled helplessly against the assault, hissing whenever he felt the man's teeth on his skin and pulling viciously at his restrained hands. But it was all in vain.

The guy didn't budge and Sam didn't know how much time had passed with the man on top of him, sucking and licking and biting the same patch of skin, while silent tears of frustration ran down his reddened cheeks.

He had never felt so helpless- so utterly embarrassed and humiliated before.

And he was terrified of what the guy might still want to do to him after he was finished with his neck.

As if reading his mind, the man finally drew back with a last possessive bite to the abused and swollen patch of skin, causing Sam to hiss in pain.

This one had drawn blood.

"See- that wasn't too bad, was it?", the guy mocked, settling back down onto Sam's hips, while the hand beneath Sam's shirt slowly descended until it reached the waistband of Sam's boxers.

Sam's eyes widened in horror, his legs kicking helplessly against the floor.

"Stop it, _please_-I don't want this- _please_ just-"

"You whiny little bitch! Ye rather want me to take _him_, is that it?! You want me to wait fer yer brother to come back, join in on the fun?!"

"Noo!"

Sam was full-out crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks as he shook his throbbing head in denial.

Because as much as he wanted Dean to storm in and safe the day like the fucking hero Sam knew he was- he would rather endure this torture alone than to get his brother involved.

Especially since he knew the bastard would swap their places in a heartbeat, putting Dean in Sam's place.

"No, leave him alone. Please..."

"You know I saw the way he looked at you, the way he protected you... I bet he would be real nice and _docile_ given the right amount of pressure- or you know,... the right kind of **_l__everage_-**"

The sentence was left hanging in the air between them and Sam felt his heart clench painfully in his chest, knowing exactly what the sick son of a bitch was talking about.

Dean had never tried to hide the fact that he loved his family.

In fact he showed it rather openly,- proudly even- whenever he got the chance to do so, but Sam would never have suspected anybody could get to the very core of his brother's psyche this quickly.

Because if you stripped Dean bare of all his bravado and his my-way-or-the-high-way bullshit, you got a deeply emotional guy with abandonment issues and a heart so big that it could fit the whole world in it.

And this heart was solely reserved for his family.

Now if anybody was to threaten said family, Dean would throw away any rational thoughts and do absolutely ANYTHING to keep them safe. And if Sam said anything, he _meant_ anything.

That was Dean for you. Sam's stupid, self-sacrificial jerk of a big brother.

And it was in that exact second, when Sam realized the full implication of what the man would do to his brother if Dean stumbled in on them, that he stopped struggling and resigned himself to his fate.

"Attaboy", the guy grinned, revealing a yellow set of teeth and taking Sam's defeated stance as an invitation to press his chapped lips against the rigid teenager's mouth, his free hand working to open the button on Sam's jeans.

A lone tear chased down the boy's reddened cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to escape the harshness of reality when the loud rumble of a car suddenly echoed through the room. Someone was coming.

_Oh my god._ Someone was here. Right in front of the motel!

The guy must have heard it as well. Because he went still against Sam's lips, while the engine stuttered to a halt outside and a car door got opened with a rusty squeak.

Thinking quickly, Sam bit down on the man's lower lip and started screaming so loud, his ears threatened to burst.

He had barely gotten out the first "Help me" before a hand was clamped over his mouth, but by then it was already too late and the door to the motel room was slammed open, revealing a red-haired stranger with a startled expression on his face.

The man's mouth fell open in shock as he took in the scene and the motel clerk started swearing loudly, scrambling off Sam's battered body like a cockroach running for its life.

"What the ever-loving-_fuck_ is going on in here?!"

**TBC...**

* * *

_Alright everyone, this is it. Here's the whole story... Don't tell me you haven't been warned :P This is the longest chapter so far and since I have absolutely no experience with fast-paced action-packed scenes like that, I just hope it didn't disappoint... :-S  
__Now who is up for the mother of all chick-flick-moments in the next chapter? I think it's time for Dean and Sam to have a talk... What do you say? ;) _**  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Lonely is the night **

**Chapter 9  
**  
Sam ended his story on a shaky note, perfectly matching the erratic beating of his heart.

The room had fallen silent, the only sound audible being the distant hum of the cars passing by on the near highway. Sam's whole body was tense, his head bowed as he waited for the inevitable fall-out that was about to come after the confessions he had just made.

He didn't dare to look up, too afraid to face the disappointment he was sure to find in John's unforgiving eyes. His father already thought of him as a failure before and now Sam had added even more reason for him to believe that he was nothing but a screw up, a poor excuse of a hunter and an even bigger let-down as a son.

With his eyes suddenly burning and his throat closing up, Sam bit his lower lip, fighting against the tears that once more threatened to break free.

He opened his mouth, only to have the words crumble like ash on his tongue.

"Sammy", his father uttered, beating him to the punch,- saving him from making an even bigger fool of himself than he already had.

Sam clenched his trembling fingers in the bed sheets and nodded, already knowing what his father was about to say. "I know... I'm sorry, dad. I should have never opened the door without checking who it was, I should have fought the guy harder- never let him get the upper hand-"

God why did he have to be such a colossal fuck-up?

"_Son_", his father interjected.

Sam looked up at the sharp tone of his voice and shrunk back against the pillows, lips trembling.

"I'm sorry", he whispered once more and reached up to wipe at the glistening trail of tears on his cheeks.

No wonder his family thought so little of him. If he couldn't even fight off some random guy, how would he ever be able to hold his own in a fight against a monster?

He was useless. Weak. Pathetic.

A constant cause for worry for both his father and his big brother.

"Sammy look at me", John demanded and Sam shuddered as he lifted his gaze to look into his father's face. "There is _nothing_, you need to be apologizing for, you hear me?"

Sam bit his lower lip.

"But-"

"No, Sam. If you want to blame someone, blame _me_. _I_ am the one that left you at this dump in the first place. I should have never dropped you boys off in a shady place like that and left you stranded and unprotected. And now you paid the price for my lack of responsibility."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had NEVER heard a single apology out of John's mouth before. Their father was way too proud and too stubborn to admit to having made mistakes. But here he was, pouring his heart out to Sam and seeking his son's forgiveness as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Sam didn't know what to say. He was speechless.

"There was no way you could have known, dad", he said softly, aware that John would never willingly put them in danger unless he thought they could deal with it. They might have their fair share of arguments, but that didn't mean their dad didn't care about them.

But much like Sam himself- John was never easily appeased. "Yeah well, I should have", he insisted, grim expression on his bearded face, self-blame radiating off him in waves.

The shaken teen was about to say something else to ease John's conscience , when Dean suddenly piped in from the side. "Yeah alright we get it, nobody's at fault. Can we skip the touchy-feely crap now and get to the real issue at hand?!"

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Had Dean really just said that?

John threw his oldest an equally baffled look, taken aback by his oldest's unexpected outburst.

"You wanna share with the class, Dean?", John gruffly demanded, clearly not in the mood to play twenty questions. Sam's insides clenched as he waited for Dean's response.

Because while it wasn't exactly uncommon for Dean to lose his temper, Sam was usually never at the receiving end of his brother's rage. And neither was John.

"You know what's really funny dad- your ability to be forgiving when it's most uncalled for- I mean _seriously_?! You get angry at Sam for not cleaning the guns right, but now he practically throws himself at the bad guy- he fucking GIVES UP- and you wanna hug it out?!"

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, boy?"

Sam felt his insides turn to ice at his brother's cruel words. Was his brother- the one person he could always trust to have his back- really blaming him for what happened? Was Dean angry at him for not being strong enough to fight the guy off?

Was he embarrassed for having such a push-over as a brother?

Sam's heart threatened to shatter into a million pieces.

"I'm talking about how Sam was about ready to _give up_ and take whatever was coming for him. Or did you miss that fucking part of his speech?", his brother carried on, unaware of the damage his words were causing.

Sam was choking on a sob. His vision was clouded by tears, as his brother's cruel words echoed through his mind.

_Give up and take what was coming for him... Practically throws himself at the bad guy...  
_  
_His brother thought __**that **__about him. _Dean thought that he had thrown himself at the motel clerk? How could his brother think that even just for a second?

Didn't Dean know how hard Sam had fought?

"Dean-", his voice broke on the name, hand reaching out to touch his brother- to seek out the physical contact when the emotional one was so brutally denied. "It wasn't like that- I- I didn't-"

His brother drew back from the touch, narrowly avoiding Sam's fingers. "No, Sam! You don't fucking understand, okay?", Dean ground out.

He shot up from the bed and drove his fist into the wall with an angry growl, beating flesh and gristle against the cracking plaster. Sam flinched back in fear and John was up in a flash.

"What the hell has gotten into you?!", their father demanded as he grabbed Dean's wrist and turned it around to inspect the damage. Even from his sitting position Sam could see that his brother's knuckles were bleeding. "Are you out of your freaking mind, Dean?!"

Sam watched the whole scene with an almost detached sense of curiosity, no longer aware of the tears that kept cascading down his battered face.

Dean's angry expression morphed into a grimace of desperation and hurt. He locked eyes with Sam over John's shoulder and just like that the fight left him and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I was just gonna be 15 minutes... that's all", he muttered quietly causing John to frown in confusion.

"15 minutes to do what?"

"To go to the store and get Sam something for his cold. It was just across the street, dad. I didn't even think he'd notice me gone..."

Sam remembered the conversation they had the night before the attack. He remembered Dean's gentle touch and his promise to be there when Sam woke up.

It was the first promise his brother had ever broken.

"Y-you said you wouldn't leave", Sam pressed out between clenched teeth and if there was a flicker of guilt in Dean's eyes, well then Sam just couldn't be bothered.

John looked from Sam to Dean, and then back at Sam, trying to follow their conversation and stringing the bits and pieces of information together in his head.

"The store was closed, Sammy... I decided that I might just as well go have a look around- find a gas station or something before heading back to the motel. If I'd known...- Jesus Sammy, I would have hightailed it back to you- ripped that _**motherfucker**_ _apart_- I swear I would have."

Yeah, Sam knew that.

His brother would do _anything_ to protect him if given the chance. But Sam wasn't the only one who knew that. Apparently even the motel clerk had noticed Dean's devotion and protectiveness towards his little brother and then tried to use that knowledge against them.

"That bastard wasn't after you, Sam. Not really. He wanted me, okay?! **ME**! And instead of just using that to your advantage-"

"Well what do you think I should have done, Dean?! Play along and tell him that-_yeah sure, if you want my brother we can just lay back and wait for him to come home?!_"

"Boys-", their father tried to intervene, rubbing his temples as if to stop a light headache from forming. Dean pushed past him, his eyes flashing angrily as he got up right into Sam's space. "That's _exactly_ what you should have done, Sam, yeah!"

"He was gonna use me as leverage against you, Dean!"

"Who says I was gonna let him use you against me-"

"BOYS!", John cut them off, nostrils flaring and chest heaving. They fell silent, gaze never wavering from each other even and not backing off until their father forcibly pushed them apart. "That's **enough**. I want you both to shut up now, you hear me? It's been a really long day for all of us and throwing around accusations is only gonna make it worse. I'm gonna go and get something to bandage your hand with, Dean, and I expect you both to keep your shit together in the few minutes I'm gone. Are we clear?"

Dean's low mumble of "yes sir" was barely audible over their harsh and angry breathing.

Their father must have heard it anyway because the next second he was gone slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. Sam was pretty sure the bandages from John's earlier ministrations must have still been lying around here somewhere, which meant their dad hadn't left to go find them. He was giving them space, a little time to hash things out between them.

Sam wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like that.

He clenched his jaw, looking deep into his brother's green eyes as he asked the one question- the one thing he needed to have an answer to at all costs.

"Do you really think what happened is my fault? That I just- gave up without a fucking fight? _Do you have that low of an opinion of me?"  
_  
Even just phrasing the question hurt, each word feeling like a knife was being plunged deeper into his heart.

Dean was overcome by emotion as he gaped at Sam, completely thrown by the question. Hurt filled his eyes when he sat down next to his younger brother.

"Wha- Sammy... no, of course not. That's not at all what I was trying to say."

Sam felt a wave of relief hit him, the feeling coming so fast and sudden that he was dizzy with it."But earlier you said-" Sam's breathing hitched at the memory. "You said I didn't fight - that I threw myself at the guy- you said it as if I was okay with what happened-"

"God, Sammy" Dean shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I know you didn't want that asshole to freaking assault you- and I don't think any less of you for what happened. It's just- the knowledge that the guy was after _**me**_- that he was trying to get to _me_ by hurting _you_- that drives me crazy. And the fact that you would rather **stop fighting** him than to risk me getting involved-" Dean broke off, unable to continue as he pressed his plush lips together and squeezed his eyes shut . "Fuck. I can't even- I'm not worth that- okay? You can't just-"

Sam swallowed, not really sure what to say. Herein lay the problem of all: His brother's messed up sense of self-worth.

Was it really so hard to believe that Sam was also willing to make sacrifices for his family's safety?

Was it really so bad if their roles were reversed just this once? If Sam ended up playing the protector instead of it being the other way around?

Sam sure as hell wasn't gonna apologize for it.

"What's done is done", he breathed. He felt tired from all the screaming they had done, his head was still aching and his whole body was sore from the phsysical assault he had endured. All he wanted was for his big brother to forget anything ever happened. "Let it go, Dean. "

"You are kidding, right? This guy fucking_ mauled_ you and you want me to let it go? He is still running around out there, Sam- probably looking for his newest boy-toy and you just want me to let go-"

As if on cew- they were interrupted by a loud banging on the front door.

Sam cringed and turned to his brother with wide frightened eyes, their argument momentarily forgotten.

Their dad struck his head through the cracked bathroom door and signaled for Dean to check the spyhole.

Sam's heart was skipping a beat when Dean got up, fingers already going for his pearl-handed glock on the nightstand.

Who was that?  
He couldn't breathe.

_**TBC...  
**_

* * *

_Alrighty people, one last cliffie as we are getting close to the end :D Please let me know what you think! As always, thank you sooo much for your awesome support guys! It really means a lot to me. :))  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Lonely is the Night **_

_**Chapter 10**_

John watched with growing apprehension as Dean reached out to open the door.

His eldest's fingers were shaking noticeably as they wrapped around the knob, his other hand still clenched around the pearl-handled gun that was stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

Sammy had drawn the blankets up around him, his bruised face having turned two shades paler ever since their talk had been interrupted by the harsh knocking.

His sons were terrified.

John strode forward, instinctively knowing his eldest would need backup for whatever was to come. The door opened just in time for John to come to a halt next to Dean and revealed a man in his late forties, wearing a battered jeans jacket and steel capped leather boots.

"Can we help you?", John asked keeping his voice carefully calm, as if it wasn't weird for some random guy to knock on their motel room door in the middle of the fucking night.

The man had a surly expression on his face and looked them both up and down suspiciously. "Listen I don't know what the hell is going on in here, but I've been forced to listen to you two screaming and hitting walls or whatever for the past couple of hours and I've had it _up to here _with your shit!"

John raised an eyebrow, squaring his shoulders. Under any other circumstances he would kick the guy's ass on principle. But this wasn't the right time or place to start a fight with some wanna-be biker, no matter how rude he was.

They couldn't afford to get kicked out of the motel in the state Sammy was in.

Especially with the possibility of an infection still looming over their heads and Bobby on his way to bring them antibiotics.

So instead of telling the guy to stick it where the sun don't shine, John merely lifted his palms in a non-threatening gesture, lips twitching into a fake smile.

"Hey, no need to get anybody else involved in this, okay? My son here just dropped a bombshell on me about getting his girl pregnant and I might have lost my temper for a second..."

John clapped his hand against Dean's shoulder, silently urging his oldest to play along with the lie. Sure enough Dean bit his lips and feigned embarrassment, dropping his gaze to the ground guiltily.

The guy looked from Dean to John and back to Dean, frowning slightly as if he couldn't really decide whether to believe them or not.

"We're sorry, sir. We'll try to keep it down.", Dean supplied quietly, driving his hand through his messy hair as he shivered in the cool autumn breeze.

The stranger's eyes trailed over Dean's whole body, taking in the crumpled T-shirt, the messy hair and finally came to rest on his hand- eyes widening slightly when he saw the busted knuckles there. John immediately noticed their mistake and swallowed back a curse.

"Boys will be boys, right?", he laughed nervously, trying to cut their conversation short before the guy could get suspicious. "So if that was everything-"

He tried to close the door, but the man put his foot in the doorway, palm pressing against the wooden surface. "You are full of shit, you know that?"

John gaped at him for a second while Dean tensed up beside him.

"Excuse me?", he asked, dangerously low.

There was a defiant glint in the guy's eyes when he met John's eyes. "Walls are terribly thin around here. I heard three voices, not two. And I don't believe your little story for one second."

The man took a step forward, chin raised as he strained to look past them and into the motel room. Dean stepped up in front of him before John got the chance to react.

"Well tough.", his eldest ground out, no longer putting on an act for the stranger. "We already said we were sorry. And that's all you need to know about us."

"Your old man here gonna beat you up if you let something slip, boy?", the guy sneered, turning around to spit at John's feet. "People like you make me sick."

It took everything inside John not to introduce that smug bastard to his fist right that second. How dare this fucking low-life idiot insinuate that John ever raised his hands to his children?! And how fucking ironic was it that some random guy decided to play hero RIGHT NOW when they needed it the least?

John was about to push Dean out of his way and get right into the stranger's face- telling him exactly what he thought of him, when Sam's light coughing broke the tense silence and the stranger broke out into a smug grin.

"I knew there was someone else in here...", he mumbled and kicked at the door with his steel capped booths before either of them could prevent it.

It swung open and the man gasped in shock when his eyes settled on the battered teenager hiding beneath the thin linen sheet.

Sam flinched back as if he was expecting the guy to harm him and John saw red.

His son had been through so much the past couple of hours and John wouldn't just stand by and watch this asshole make it even worse.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!", he snapped grabbing the man by his shoulders to push him back out of the room and out of Sam's sight.

"So this is what this is really all about, huh?!", the soon-to-be-dead guy snarled. "You use this kid as your punching bag? How old is he, eleven? Twelve?! Fucking scumbag like you should never get kids in the first plac-"

A sharp blow to the jaw cut the stranger off before he could finish his sentence. He fell to the ground, both hands shooting up as he cradled his face in pain and John blinked at him, unable to process what had just happened. "Damnit... _Dean_."

Dean was breathing heavily as he stared down at the man he had just felled with a well-placed punch to the face. He didn't show the least bit of remorse or guilt but his emerald eyes shone with the knowledge that he had just made a huge mistake.

Because he had let his emotions get the better of him and now they had an even bigger problem at their hands than before.

John swallowed, crouching down to assess the damage, but the guy drew back immediately, eyes wide with shock and pain. "S-stay the fuck away from me you brute! 'M gonna call the fucking police and make s-sure they'll lock you away forever. Both of you f-fucking bastards!"

The man crawled across the grimy floor, spitting blood to the ground from where he had busted his lip.

John rang for words- anything to calm the stranger down, when Sam suddenly appeared at his side, peering outside with wide and frightened eyes.

"Oh god... Shit, Dean. Is he okay?", the teen asked in a shaky voice. "What did you do?"

"Get back inside, Sam. Now!"

This whole situation was bad enough as it was. Having his youngest in the middle of the big fallout would only make things more complicated.

Dean seemed to agree with him because when Sam showed no signs of compliance, his eldest gently steered the kid back inside, while John took the opportunity to focus on the stranger once more.

The guy had somehow wrestled his cell phone from the back of his jeans and started dialing the police and John had just enough time to make a quick decision before he stormed forward and slammed his own meaty fist into the stranger's face, knocking him unconscious.

He really hadn't wanted for it to come to this. But the guy hadn't left him any other choice.

With him having seen Sammy in the state he was in, having heard their earlier fighting AND getting hit by Dean there was absolutely nothing John could have said to convince him that he wasn't actually some abusive asshole that beat his own kids for kicks.

And they needed some more time before they could hightail it out of here. At least enough time to wait for Bobby to come and get Sam these goddamn antibiotics.

"Fuck...", Dean breathed shakily when he returned to stand next to John's side, looking down at the unconscious body in a strange mixture of awe and panic.

"Dad I'm sorry-"

"Get his legs. We are gonna take him inside...", John ordered in a low voice, not wanting for anyone to overhear their conversation. Dean hesitated. "Inside? Like inside _our _room?!"

"Yes goddamnit, now help me carry him before someone sees us!"

Together they somehow managed to carry the rather heavy stranger into the room, dropping him onto the empty queen-sized bed next to the entrance.

"What are you doing?! Dad? What did you do to him? Oh god... oh my god. I-is he d-dead?"

Sam's voice was squeaky with the panic that cursed through him at the sight of the unconscious and bleeding stranger in their room. "Go get me the duct tape from my duffle, Dean.", John commanded, ignoring his youngest.

When Dean returned with the silver tape, John made quick process of the guy, binding his ankles and wrists together to make him immobile, before putting another stripe of tape over his mouth in case he regained consciousness before Bobby made an appearance.

"Oh god...", Sam sobbed from the side, driving both his hands through his shaggy brown locks and tugging mercilessly.

"What if someone saw you? What if you k-killed him?"

"He's not _dead,_ Sam. Now calm down or-"

John was interrupted by another sharp knock on the door, causing his heart to jump in his chest. They all froze, not daring to breathe. Sam threw his father a panic-filled glance and John's pulse started racing.

Fuck!  
What if someone had seen them after all?

He looked down at the unmoving body of the stranger and snatched the discarded bed sheet from the ground, throwing it over the unconscious man to hide him.

There was more banging, louder this time and Sam whimpered in fear on the bed next to him.

"Who's there?"

There was a second of nerve-wrecking silence.

"John? Open up, it's Bobby..."

**_TBC..._**

* * *

_Hey guys! Sorry for the long break :-S For some reason I was plagued by writer's block... which is also why this chapter is awefully short (and a little hectic on top of that) haha... I hope you are all still hanging in there! one or two more chapters to come if you are still interested :)  
I was also wondering if I should write a sequel to this story (older Sam and Dean accidentally stumbling across the motel clerk years after the attack and then trying to chase him down and dealing with unresolved issues from the past...) What do you guys say? :)  
Pleeeease, as always R&R, your opinions, comments & support are highly appreciated!_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Lonely is the Night **_

_**Chapter 11**_

John Winchester was a cold-hearted, stubborn bastard with more emotional baggage to carry than any other hunter Bobby had ever met before.

He was well-known in the hunters community, causing people to turn their heads and start whispering in his presence. Spreading rumors about how many monsters he had killed and how many demons exorcised, without realizing that there was so much more to John Winchester than a simple killing machine, - that there was a cruel background story to John's character.

But Bobby knew.

He could relate to the kind of mind-numbing, all-consuming grief that threatened to swallow you whole when you lost the love of your life.

He could understand.

But even with the shared fate of having lost both their wives to the supernatural, there was still one huge difference between the two of them: Bobby didn't have kids.

So yeah, maybe he was an alcoholic, a grumpy mechanic who hadn't made a whole lot of his life- but at least he wasn't some lousy wayward father, forcing his children to become hunters and live an unpromising (and probably short) life full of darkness and brutality.

Sam and Dean were good boys. They were intelligent and respectful and oh-so innocent, even with the constant presence of evil lurking close. And Bobby might have never wanted children of his own, but even he knew- that John was one lucky bastard to have these two incredible kids by his side.

Hell, maybe (in his darkest hours) he might have even thought about grabbing the two and making a run for it- giving them the life they goddamn well deserved, instead of this poor excuse of an existence. Maybe Bobby had lied awake in bed, thinking about an eight-year-old Sammy who wouldn't stop crying against his chest because he had just watched his brother and father leave on their way to yet another hunt. Or about Dean's pain-filled screaming when John had dug a bullet out of the fifteen-year-old boy's chest on Bobby's old leather couch.

And maybe- just maybe, Bobby had imagined these two kids- these stubborn little geniuses with their stupid banter and their shaggy hair and dimpled smile and freckled cheeks- to be his own.

But unfortunately, that wasn't how things worked.

As it was, John Winchester was their legitimate father, their only parent and apparently the man who was too busy chasing some yellow-eyed demon boss in his never-ending thirst for revenge to appreciate the fact that he had two sons who needed their father more than anything.

So the reason why Bobby found himself speeding down some no-name highway in the middle of the night without a real clue what he was in for, was not John Winchester's desperate pleading, but rather the thought that something serious might have happened to the boys he loved so much.

And while it wasn't exactly uncommon for one of the Winchesters to get hurt during a hunt, Bobby had never heard John sound so devastated before.

Something in the man's voice had told Bobby that this wasn't just another injury to be written off as collateral damage.

No, John had been too shaken for that.

Something really bad must have happened to Sam and Bobby's heart clenched at the mere thought.

He pushed the gas pedal of his old truck harder, while his head went through all the different possibilities of what might have happened to the youngest Winchester.

But not even in his wildest dreams would he have expected what waited for him when he arrived at the Brighton Motel at about 4 in the morning.

He parked the truck close to the only room with lights on and took a deep breath as if to steel himself for what was coming.

Muffled sounds seeped through the thin walls of the ramshackle building and Bobby immediately recognized the voices as he walked up to knock against the door.

"John? Open up, it's Bobby."

A sharp whisper. A broken sob and some shuffling.

Then the door cracked open and Bobby's eyes widened. In the doorway stood Dean, face an unhealthy shade of pale and green eyes dulled with exhaustion and worry.

Good grief, the boy was a mess.

"Bobby", Dean breathed out, voice strained with barely contained emotion and if there was any doubt left about the seriousness of this situation Bobby would have dropped it right that second. An agitated Dean could only mean that Sam was in some sort of trouble.

The door gap widened and Bobby held back a gasp at the sight that met his old eyes.

The motel room was a complete mess- guns and clothing strewn across the floor, and the heavy odor of blood and sweat permeated the stuffy air, making it hard to breathe.

"Close the door", a rough voice ordered when Bobby came face to face with John Winchester, who looked about as tired and worn-out as his eldest son. What the hell had happened here?

"Did you bring the medicine?", John urged, never one to be patient and Bobby snorted, handing the hunter a duffle full of two IV-bags and all the necessary fixtures that went along with it. "Hello to you too, John. Can't say I've missed your ungrateful ass, but it's not like it has ever stopped me before."

John snorted, turning on his heel and heading towards the bed furthest from the door, where Bobby's gaze finally settled on Sam.

The youngest Winchester had always been a little bit on the scrawny side- looking far too young for his age, but Bobby had never seen Sam so vulnerable- so _hurt-_ before. It was like a punch to the guts to see this lovable, friendly kid in such a poor state.

There were marks all over the boy's face, around his eye and across the nose blossomed bruises in various shapes and colors, a blood-crusted gash stood out from the kid's forehead and his lip was split at several places.

"Uncle Bobby-", Sam said, eyes brimming with tears and voice scratchy, as he tried to free himself from the bedsheets he was tangled up in. Bobby felt his heart splinter into a million pieces.

"Jesus... son. What-"

"We don't have time for explanations, alright?", John snapped from the side, harshly cutting him off, as he worked to set up the IV for his youngest. Bobby was speechless for a second, but recovered quickly.

"_Excuse me?_", he spat, feeling a burst of rage inside of him. "I just travelled across country to haul your ass out of trouble, Winchester, and if you think for one second you can deny me an explanation about what happened here- you got another thing coming!"

Bobby had expected John to blow up in return, get right in his face, but the reaction he got came from Dean, not from John.

"Look, can we please do this after we took care of Sam? We've got so much shit to deal with right now, and you two butting heads isn't something we should waste our time with."

Under any other circumstances Bobby would have told Dean off for giving him lip, but he couldn't deny that the boy was right. He didn't come all the way here just for him and John to get into it. Besides, they had more important things to worry about right now. He could get the nitty-gritty details of the story later.

"You're right, sorry. What do you need me to do?"

"You have cuffs in that truck of yours?", John asked as he hooked the IV bag into a wire hanger from the closet and suspended it on a lamp-post near the bed, hanging it upside down to allow the proper flow of liquids into Sam's body. Bobby's brows furrowed in confusion. "Handcuffs? What the hell do you need those for?"

Why would John want to handcuff his own son to the bed? Had Sam been bitten by a werewolf or a Vampire? Was he afraid Sam would be turning? Bobby's heart started racing... No, that couldn't be true. John would never let that happen, right?

Dean pointed towards a rather impressive person-shaped lump beneath the bed-sheets on the bed next to Sam's and Bobby stumbled back in shock. "Balls", he muttered, when he saw the dark stain of blood seeping through the flimsy white material. "What the hell did you do?"

"Relax... ", Dean said, pulling the sheet down to reveal a man around forty with dirty blond hair and a slight stubble, partially covered by a thick stripe of duct take.

His nose and lip were bleeding slightly, judging from the amount of red covering his face and the slight swelling on his jaw made the cause for his current state pretty obvious. He had been beaten into unconsciousness.

Well wasn't that just great? Things kept getting better and better.

"He's been on our case, we had to get rid off him so he wouldn't call the cops."

"Jesus boy... What were you thinking?"

It was one thing to hit someone in a burst of anger- but to knock them out and tie them up like that? That was downright stupid.

"We had no other choice... Now will you help us take care of him or not?", John piped up from the side, while pinching the skin on Sam's arm to insert the needle. The shaggy haired kid grimaced slightly in pain, biting his lip to hold back his discomfort. Dean winced in sympathy and Bobby sighed before looking back at the stranger.

"Shouldn't we get him back into his own room at least?"

John shook his head. "Too risky. If anybody comes looking for him, we are screwed. Best thing would be to keep him here, while we wait for Sam's meds to kick in."

Bobby nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable with the way they were treating an innocent bystander who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he could understand John's reasoning and there really was no way they could chance this guy to call the cops on them. "Catch", Bobby tossed Dean the keys to his truck. "Cuffs are in the glove compartment. And get me my medkit while you're at it."

Dean followed his orders with a sharp nod, unaware of the real reason why Bobby wanted to get rid of him, while he and John hauled the stranger's body into the tiny bathroom.

Once the door was closed, effectively shutting the two older hunters off from Sam's ears, Bobby bestowed John with an angry glare. "You got some serious explaining to do", he growled in a low voice. "These boys are a mess. I have never seen 'em like that before and I ain't likin' it."

John closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. His adam's apple was bobbing as he swallowed. "Sam was attacked, Bobby."

"Attacked by what?"

Bobby had seen the scrapes and bruises on the boy's skin, but they hadn't looked like they were from any monster Bobby knew. The wounds had looked vicious but there hadn't been any claw marks or bite marks - at least not anywhere Bobby could have seen them.

"Fuck, Bobby... It was a guy. Some lowlife scum who had set his eyes on Dean and then tried to use Sam against him. That sick asshole... h-he - tried to hurt him Bobby- tried to-"

John broke off, unable to voice the unthinkable.

Bobby paled, hands trembling as he fought against the instant urge to hunt that son of a bitch down for daring to lay a hand on either one of these two boys.

"He-he didn't-", Bobby swallowed, mouth turning dry and words stuck in his throat. "Sam's okay, right? He didn't-"

John shook his head fiercely. "No. No he's okay. The guy didn't- he didn't get that far."

There were no words to describe the tidal wave of relief that washed over him with John's confirmation. The boy was okay- thank god, nothing more serious had happened. Bobby wasn't sure if the Winchesters would have survived it if anything like that ever happened to their youngest.

John and Dean were so incredibly protective of Sam- loved him so wholeheartedly and with such a ferocity, that it would have hit them hardest if he was ever to be harmed like that. And Sam himself- he was such a sensitive boy, taking everything to heart, overthinking and analysing things like no fourteen-year-old ever should.

Why would anyone want to destroy such innocence?

Bobby had trouble wrapping his head around all of this. He rubbed a hand over his creased brow and sighed. "So the bite wound...", he trailed off, putting one and one together.

"A fucking hickey... guy was restraining him, blackmailed him into compliance with a threat against Dean."

Bobby nodded, knowing that Sam would instantly stop fighting for himself if he thought it might keep his brother out of trouble. Jesus... these boys were gonna be the death of him one day.

"Damnit, John. This could have been avoided. None of this would have happened if you hadn't run off on yet another hunt leaving them to fend for themselves! You can't just drop them off at shady places like that and expect them to deal with the outfall if things get nasty. What kind of father do you think you ar-"

Bobby was harshly cut off, when John grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him up against the tiled bathroom wall.

"Don't you fucking dare, Singer-", John whispered in a dangerously low voice, causing Bobby to shudder in apprehension. "I love my boys. I would never knowingly put them in danger- they mean _everything_ to me."

And maybe Bobby was having a death wish- but he couldn't hold back the response that stumbled past his lips. "Yeah? Well you sure got a weird way of showing it! If they really mean that much to you, you would have been there to protect them-"

"You think you could do _better_? You think it's easy to be a hunter and a parent?! To know what's out there and still be the father they deserve?! You will NEVER understand- you will never be anyone's father and you sure as hell have no right to play substitute dad for my sons."

Bobby's nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to swallow past the hurt that John's words had caused him. John had always known that Bobby had a soft spot for his boys and it wasn't fair to use his wish to have a family of his own against him.

"I might not have the first clue about parenting,", he spat out between clenched teeth, pushing John off with a hard shove to the his chest. "But I know enough about it to realize you are doing it _all wrong_."

It was the last thing he said, before he returned to the living room, slamming the door closed behind him. Sam flinched slightly, watching Bobby with wide and frightened eyes, while Dean sat next to his little brother on the bed, idly meddling with the IV needle in Sam's forearm.

It took one look at the older boy's rigid posture, the way his back muscles were twitching with unreleased tension, to know that he had heard every word Bobby and John had exchanged in the bathroom.

Damn' these goddamned paper-thin walls...

Bobby cleared his throat.

"You...you get the cuffs, son?"

Dean's jaw was clenched when he turned around to glare at Bobby. He threw the handcuffs over at him with more force than necessary. "I'm not your son."

Well, damn.

It didn't get any clearer than that.

Bobby's throat started burning and his heart threatened to crumble to dust.

Deep down he had always known that if given the choice- the boys would always pick their own father over him. Of course they would. That was only natural. But that didn't mean Dean's words weren't still painful.

"Dean-", he made a step forward, reaching out to the boy, but he shied away from the touch, making his statement even more obvious. _Don't mess with my dad. He is trying his best.  
_  
Bobby sighed and backed off. His eyes landed on Sam, his battered face partly obscured by the too long bangs and the old mechanic's heart broke when his eyes found the white gauze on the boy's throat, knowing what the bandage was hiding beneath.

"How you feeling, Sam?"

Bobby knew the boy didn't like to be called "Sammy" unless the hated nickname came from his big brother, so he had honored the kid's wish and never used it again himself.

"Better now, I guess...", Sam responded tiredly, words slightly slurred as if the mere effort of getting them out was eating up his last energy reserves. "Thanks for coming, Bobby."

Bobby smiled at him, feeling his throat constrict. Trust Sam to be grateful and polite even after he got attacked and hurt and was fighting the after effects of an infection. How the kid still managed to keep his manners after everything that had happened to him was beyond Bobby.

"No need to thank me, son- uh- Sam.", he quickly corrected, when Dean shot him a poignant look. "I'm always here to help." Which was true. Bobby had helped the Winchesters out so many times before, he had lost count. And they knew it too.

There was a moment of awkward silence, with Bobby watching as the brothers wordlessly interacted with each other- Dean calmly brushing Sam's bangs from his forehead, while Sam toyed with a loose thread on his big brother's shirt- always so deeply engrossed in their own small world- the intricate bond they shared. Before Bobby finally turned back to the bathroom with a sigh.

He opened the door, dropping the cuffs to the ground before John's feet.

The oldest Winchester was crouched low, trying to arrange the stranger's unconscious body so that he could be cuffed without getting loose any time soon. Not an easy task if the stranger was completely lax and weighing a good 200 pounds. But Bobby didn't move to help him. John had brought this upon himself.

The only reason why Bobby was here in the first place, were Sam and Dean.

"You are gonna leave, aren't you?"

John froze and lifted his head. Their eyes met in a rare moment of unabashed honesty.

"The bastard is still out there somewhere, Bobby. You can't expect me to sit back and do nothing while he is out there looking for his newest prey"

Bobby's hand tingled with the urge to slap some sense into John.

"You really think that's what Sam wants right now? Some twisted sort of revenge?! The boy has been traumatized. He needs his father, goddamnit!"

There was a metallic sound from where the handcuffs snapped close around the stranger's wrist. John grimaced when he straightened up from the ground- his knees protesting loudly from having been in the same position for too long. Perks of getting old, Bobby thought distractedly.

"And what about Dean? Have you thought about him in any of this? Do you even notice how much blame that boy is shouldering? Have you seen the exhaustion in his eyes- or the _guilt_?! He thinks this is all his fault and you taking off will only confirm him in his suspicion!"

"Then what do you want me to do?", John asked, throwing his arms out to the sides.

"Let it go", Bobby answered, without having to think about it. "Be there for your kids when it's so obvious that they need you."

There was a flicker of insecurity in John's face- just for a second, before his expression turned back to the usual steel front of apathy. "They will be fine, taking care of each other. Like they always do."

Bobby shook his head, unwilling to explain that they were hardly left with any other choice than to take care of each other if nobody else did.

As admirable as the boys' relationship was, Bobby couldn't help thinking that so much co-dependency was never a good thing, especially at such a young age.

And wasn't their close relationship the reason why that bastard had gotten the drop on Sam in the first place? Did John ever stop to think about any of that? Bobby doubted it.

"Don't do this, John. Just this once, I'm asking you to let it go. For your boys."

But Bobby should have known damn well better than to assume John Winchester would ever change.

"I have to do this.", John said, eyes glinting with a dangerous spark. "Just take them with you and watch them while I'm gone. It won't take me longer than a couple of days..."

The mechanic shook his head in disbelief while John stepped outside, ready to break his sons' hearts once again and leave Bobby to pick up the pieces.

And in this moment, standing in the tiny bathroom with an unconscious man cuffed to a toilet, a banged-up fourteen year old hooked up on stolen antibiotics, while his older brother threatened to drown in his own guilt, Bobby _knew_- that he didn't need to be the boys' father in order to be there for them.

He knew that he would never put anything above these two, not even himself or the lives of other people, because whether or not the Winchesters realized it yet- family didn't end with blood.

And Bobby would gladly prove it to them for as many times as needed.

_**TBC...**_

* * *

_Hey everyone! So this one was Bobby-heavy. Hope that's alright with you guys... John can be a bastard at times. :( I was planning to make the next chapter the last one. I promise more hurt/comfort- lastly between Sam and Dean. And a little of Dean-Bobby mending :) It's gonna be an epilogue of sorts.  
__Tell me what you thought, your reviews are always highly appreciated! :D _


	12. Chapter 12

_**Lonely is the Night**_

_**Epilogue**_

It was sunday and Dean awoke to the sound of birds chirping away merrily outside the dust-covered window in Bobby's attic.

Sunlight streamed in through the glass panes, throwing distorted squares of light across the duvet and catching on the dust particles that floated through the air.

Dean groaned, running a hand over sleep-crusted eyes, when he noticed the thin arm that was randomly strewn across his chest.

Small puffs of hot air ghosted over the skin on his neck and Dean instantly stilled his movements, becoming more aware of the heavy weight that was pressed against his side.

He could feel the subtle beating of a heart against his back,-a warm trickle of drool against his shoulder and while he knew it should probably gross him out, Dean couldn't find it in himself to move away. He figured that once you've changed somebody's diapers, bathed them, fed them and have been thrown up on by them,- a little bit of spittle was nothing you couldn't get past.

What he did have a problem with, however, was the fact that Sammy was still plagued by vicious nightmares that kept him up at night and caused him to crawl into Dean's bed afterwards, shuddering against his big brother's chest and crying silent tears of shame.

Three days had passed since their dad had left to hunt down Sam's attacker and last night they had officially tried to sleep in seperate beds for the first time after the accident, Sam bunking on a rickety old foldaway bed close to his own.

And now look how well that had worked out.

Sam was practically attached to him- _freaky little octopus that he was_- lanky body sprawled all over Dean and taking up most of his mattress.

Dean sighed, feeling his brother's soft hair tickle the sensitive skin on his throat and beneath his chin. It wasn't like he minded sharing- hell, he would gladly let Sam bunk with him forever if that was what the kid needed.

But they couldn't go on like this.

Their dad wouldn't be gone forever and once he came back to get them, they needed to function normally again.

They didn't have the time or money for therapy sessions. No, they would have to overcome this trauma by themselves.

But for that to happen, he would need to crack Sam first. Make him talk about these goddamned nightmares, and whatever else the kid tried to keep from him.

Dean exhaled slowly.

Carefully slipping out from beneath Sam's arm, he gathered his discarded clothing from the ground and slipped on his Jeans from the day before. He washed his face with ice cold water, brushed his teeth and threw a last glance towards his still sleeping brother, before heading down the stairs.

He found Bobby rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, wearing a checked button down shirt and some ratty jeans with greasy oil stains. "About time you got up...", the grouchy mechanic grumbled, not looking up from where he stirred something on the stove.

Dean yawned and made his way over to the table. "Time s'it?", he asked in a hoarse voice, taking a seat in one of the creaky wooden stools.

"Eleven thirty. That brother of yers still sleeping?"

"Yeah, he had another nightmare last night..."

Bobby handed Dean a cup of steaming coffee.

Black and without sugar, just the way he liked it.

He sniffed, closing his eyes in silent pleasure before taking a sip of the bitter brew.

"Boy's been through a lot, Dean. It's not something you forget overnight. Just give it time."

Bobby missed the whole point. _They didn't have time.  
_  
"School will be starting soon and once Dad comes to get us, we will have to deal with hunting on top of everything else. Dad will expect us to get back to normal, stay in motels, do training, back him up on hunts... how is any of that gonna work, if he can't even sleep in a bed of his own for one night? If he refuses to leave the house by himself or if he gets a panic attack every time a stranger as much as looks at him?"

Bobby sighed, taking a seat across from Dean.

"You know you two can stay longer, if ya need it... Your brother can easily catch up with his school mates if he misses some classes, boy sure is clever enough for that."

Dean shook his head, before Bobby had even finished talking. Sam was a freaking genius for sure, Dean had no doubt that his little brother would have no trouble catching up with the rest of the class if it ever came to that. But that wasn't the reason why they couldn't stay.

"Dad needs us.", Dean said simply, shrugging his shoulders as if that was all the explanation Bobby needed. "We can't leave him hanging like this. He needs us to back him up on the job."

Bobby looked at Dean with a mixture of disbelief and empathy, that didn't sit well with him.

He didn't like it when people pitied him.

They would come out on top of this whole mess- _as a family_- like they always did.

"I just-", Dean started, grimacing. "I just wish Sammy would talk to me, Bobby... I feel like he's shutting me out and I don't know what to do– "

Sammy has always been a talk-active kid, quick to open his heart and ready to happily chatter away, talking your ear off if you were stupid enough to let him.

But with the years he had become more withdrawn, keeping a lot of things to himself in an attempt to come off as more mature or whatever...

It had bothered Dean at first, not being able to read him liked he used to do, no longer knowing about every tiny little detail of the kid's life, but he had learnt to accept that his brother was no longer the snotty four-year-old he used to be.

That Sammy was finally growing up to be his own individual, more independent and autonomous than Dean himself had ever been.

And it hurt- _god, it hurt so bad-_ to know that Sam didn't need him as much as he used to- that he was gradually withdrawing himself from their family- distancing himself a little more from Dean with each passing day.

But this right here? This was different. This wasn't his little brother trying to be independent.

Right now, Sam was hurting real bad and he tried to hide it, tried to deal with it by himself and failing in his attempt. And to be honest, Dean wasn't sure how much more of the kid's pain he could take, before he would break down and crumble himself.

More than once in the past couple of days Dean had been awoken by Sam's quiet whimpering or his muttered pleas for help and it broke his goddamn' heart every single time.

Every broken sob, hitched breath or desperate _"No. Please, stop– " _coming from Sam's lips, was adding another crack to his already broken heart- every tear rolling down Sam's cheeks, adding another drop to the ocean of guilt that threatened to drown him.

Dean drained the last bit of coffee before meeting Bobby's warm gaze, shocked when the old man's eyes seemed to look right past his carefully built steel-front and straight into his soul.

"Sam worships the ground you walk on, Dean. If there's anything I know for sure, than that the only person who can get him out of this funk, is you."

And Dean wasn't sure what happened inside of him right then, but the words sent a pang of hurt through his heart and his swallowed convulsively, fighting tears.

"That's just it, Bobby! I mean how can he even still look at me, after I have failed him so completely? Don't you see that this is all my fault?! That none of this would have happened if it wasn't for me?"

"Dean...", Bobby tried to reach out towards him, but Dean wouldn't have it. He jumped up from his seat, knocking the coffee cup from the table in process and Bobby flinched when the porcelain cracked on the tiled kitchen floor, shattering into broken pieces.

Irreparable, just like their family was.

Dean's throat burned with each gasp for breath and his heart was beating so fast it was making him sick.

How where they ever gonna be okay after the things his little brother had endured? After what had almost happened to him if some random stranger hadn't jumped to the rescue?

And as if all of that wasn't bad enough already, now their dad had to leave them behind AGAIN to go on yet another revenge crusade and Dean didn't even get the chance to redeem himself by going with him. How was any of this fair?!

Why hadn't his dad taken him along?

He wanted to see that bastard suffer too, just as much as dad did. Maybe even more so.

"Because your brother needs you, you goddamned idjit...", Bobby said and suddenly he was close- too close- wrapping arms around Dean and hugging him like his goddamned life depended on it. Crap. Had he said that last part out loud? And why the hell was he crying?

Dean Winchester didn't cry goddamnit... He didn't cry. What would his father say if he could see him right now?

"I-I just don't know how to- I can't– "

"Shhh– "

"Bobby– ", Dean croaked, his own voice sounding garbled and raw.

He was stiff in Bobby's arms, unresponsive to the embrace but still shaking, still crying like some stupid little kid, and there was nothing he could do or say to stop it. He wanted his dad. He wanted his brother to be okay- to turn back time and make everything alright between them. "I j-just need Sam to be a-alright."

"And he will be. He just needs time..."

"B-but dad– "

"Will be back soon."

Dean choked on a sob, trying to calm down, but the hiccups just kept coming. They stayed like that for a while, with Dean crying and Bobby holding him, until a sound from the foyer made them both freeze.

The tell-tale creaking of Bobby's old floorboards gave away Sam's presence and Dean immediately snapped his head to the doorway, heart missing a beat when he met his little brother's shocked face- wide eyes taking in the broken shards of porcelain on the kitchen floor and the stupid tears that coated Dean's cheeks.

Immediately he let go of the mechanic, stumbling back a few steps as in his haste while the teen's face crumbled, lips trembling before he turned around and ran out of the house, slamming the front door closed behind him.

Shit.

"Sammy!" Dean was charging after him, before Bobby could say anything to hold him back.

He was halfway across the junkyard, shivering in nothing but a thin shirt and his jeans, when he spotted the familiar shaggy mop of brown hair hunched down in between two car wrecks.

"Sam– ", he breathed quietly, feeling strangely hollow inside when Sam didn't look up to meet his eyes. "Talk to me, dude, c'mon..."

He dropped down next to his little brother, carefully avoiding the sharp pieces of metal sticking out from the old Pontiac behind him. The sun was out, but the wind blew just enough for it to feel chilly, while the leaves rustled softly around them.

Dean's hands were sweaty, his pulse racing as he waited for some kind of reaction from his little brother- anything to make him understand what had caused Sam's reaction.

But Sam was quiet for so long, gaze carefully avoided and posture rigid, that Dean began to think he would never start talking. Then he took a deep breath, brushing their shoulder together in a barely-there-touch.

"I can sleep in my own bed from now on out, if it bothers you so much. I'm not a goddamned baby." Sam's voice was shaking when he talked and Dean blinked, taken aback by his brother's words.

Where the hell was that coming from?

"I don't mind you bunking with me, Sammy. You know, I don't."

"Oh yeah?", Sam's head snapped up and Dean was taken aback by the pain that was written all over the boy's features. "I heard what you said to Bobby, Dean. Stop lying to my fucking face!"

Dean was dumbstruck for a second, he opened his mouth to formulate a response, but Sam was quicker.

"You think I'm a goddamn' liability! You think I won't be able to go to school or do research, or training- or have your back on a job because _I'm all screwed up inside_ and need therapy sessions that we can't afford!"

Dean held Sam's furious gaze, eyes never wavering from his brother's hazel ones.

"You're not a liability, Sam. Don't put words in my mouth. I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

"Do I, really?", Sam asked, voice cracking slightly on the last word. "Because with the way you've been acting, it sometimes feels like– "

Sam's eyes were brimming with tears of his own as he broke the sentence off.

"Like what?", Dean forced the question past trembling lips, not ready to hear an answer.

A tear broke free from beneath Sam's lashes.

"Like- l-like you're embarrassed to have such a w-wuss f-for a brother– "

"That's bull" Dean roughly interjected, pushing up from the ground and driving a hand through his messy hair. He clenched his jaw in determination and looked down at Sam with the most sincere expression he could muster. "I have never been- nor will I ever be- embarrassed of you, Sammy. And if you really think that of me, you don't know me at all. What happened wasn't your fault, Sam. It was mine."

It hurt, to admit his own mistakes. But there was a right time for everything in life, and Dean knew he would have to come clean about this sooner or later.

"I should have never left you alone to get the damn' medicine, Sammy. Hell, I should have never let Dad dump us at that motel in the first place, after meeting that creep at the reception on our first day. And then after the night our heater conked out- with what he said- what he wanted me to do?" Dean swallowed. "We should have gotten the hell out of there right that fucking second."

Sam shook his head, wiping his snotty nose with the sleeve of his sweater. "You didn't know any of this would happen."

"But I SHOULD HAVE known! I'm your big brother, Sammy, I should be the one protecting you from shit like that- not causing it to happen!"

"It's not your fault!", Sam protested, getting up from the ground as well, as he took his stance in front of Dean. They were both breathing heavily, tears streaming down their faces as they glared at each other.

"_This guy almost fucking raped you, Sam!_"

The words echoed loudly through the deserted junkyard and Dean's body was shaking with them, falling apart at the seams as he watched Sam's eyes widen in shock.

But it was too late to take them back now, even if he wanted to.

"Do you have any idea what that feels like? To look at the bruises on your face- the fucking _hickey_ on your throat- and to KNOW that these marks are there because of me?!"

Sam had his fists clenched at his sides, whole body trembling as he listened to his brother's desperation. "To know I could have prevented all of this from happening, if only I had– "

"If only you had what, Dean?!", Sam challenged angrily. "If only you had sacrificed yourself to spare me? Gone with the bastard and taken his fucking offer so he wouldn't come close to me?! You are such a freaking hypocrite, Dean! Sometimes you make me sick!"

Dean sucked in air, like he had just received a physical blow to the gut. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam's nostrils flared and his head was blotchy with tears and the fading remains of yellow and blue bruises. It was hard to look at him like that- to see the despair in his deep hazel eyes.

"It means that you are always so willing to sacrifice yourself- without thinking about what it would do to me and dad! You wanna know what I've been dreaming about these past couple of nights? I've been dreaming about how that bastard leered at you- how he sidled up to you- touched you- trying to blackmail you, and instead of telling him to stick it where the sun don't shine _you were going along with it_!"

Sammy closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing as if pushing the words out caused him physical harm.

"And I would try to fight him off but y-you would take me by the arms and look into my eyes with that resigned expression on your face and say that I shouldn't worry, because you would never let him hurt me. But I didn't care Dean! I just wanted you to take care of yourself."

Sam hiccupped, folding in half, like someone just cut off the strings off a puppet and Dean watched dumbfounded- almost as if in trance as he buried his face in his hands and started crying in earnest, huge earth-shuddering sobs tearing free from his throat.

"Sammy...", Dean whispered, moving forward on auto-pilot and pulling the kid into his arms.

There was no hesitation. Sam just melted against him without a flicker of resistance, whole body going lax and heavy as he buried his head in the mould between Dean's shoulder and neck.

Dean rested his cheek against the kid's mop of hair, smelling the faint scent of soap and something else that was entirely Sammy. "I don't know what you want me to say, here..."

Sam shuddered against him, shivers wrecking his whole body. Dean wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or the emotional strain, but it didn't matter.

"I wouldn't just go along any greasy slime ball because he is talking about CPS...okay? I'm not that easy."

Of course, his lame joke fell flat. But Dean didn't know how to approach the topic any other way. What else could you say in response to your brother being afraid you might whore yourself out to some perverted freak just because he was asking nicely?

Seriously, Sammy? _A little credit, please?_

But Sam was shaking his head against Dean's neck. "Y-you would do an-anything. If g-given the r-right p-pressure. That's wh-what he s-said– "

"What, and you _believed_ him?"

Sam moved out of the embrace to shoot Dean a _'Duhh'-_ expression that was picture-worthy. Maybe Dean would have to work on his transparency.

"Promise you won't e-ever do something s-so stupid. Not e-even for me. Or d-dad."

The puppy-dog eyes were on full display and Dean swallowed, feeling strangely cornered by the request.

His brother was asking him not to put the lives of the people he loved most over his own. And no matter how much he wanted for Sam to be happy, that was one promise he just couldn't keep.

But he would try to keep up the pretense if that would make things easier on Sam.

"Alright.", he rasped out, with a forced smile and a quick peck to Sam's forehead. "But the same thing goes for you, kiddo, you hear me? Next time some asshole tries to use me or dad against you, you kick him in the nuts, understood?"

Sam bit his lower lip and nodded, eyes red from all the crying he had done.

The both looked at each other for another long moment, drawing and seeking comfort in the other's eyes, before Dean finally decided it was time to head back inside.

"Not gonna let you catch a cold on top of everything else", he mumbled good-naturedly, keeping an arm slung easily across Sam's shoulder as they walked towards the patio of Bobby's house.

"You think dad will get him?"

Dean thought about it and shrugged. "I hope so..."

The world sure would be a better place without that pervert on the loose. In his opinion, that fucking lowlife deserved to die, human or not.

Dean sure as hell wouldn't lose sleep over the guy's death- not after what he had done to Sam.

But Sammy was sensitive with topics like these. He was so good- so entirely pure and innocent that he would find it in himself to feel empathy for that son-of-a-bitch, even after everything that had been done to him.

So Dean kept his thoughts to himself and just hugged Sam a little closer.

Inside, the whole house smelled of home-made food, delicious and rich, like neither Sam, nor Dean were used to.

They found Bobby with his head stuck in the oven and Dean's stomach grumbled at the sight of the roast beef the mechanic had prepared.

"Don't just stand there, boys. Make yerself useful and set the table.", the hunter scolded grumpily, never once mentioning the boys' red rimmed eyes or long absence.

Dean felt a burst of gratitude and love towards the mechanic and clapped Sam's shoulder before getting the plates from the cupboard.

And in that moment he knew that maybe they weren't completely fine yet- but eventually they would be.

Because there was nothing they couldn't overcome as a family.

**END**

* * *

_Alright. This is it, guys!  
First of all THANK YOU ALL, sooo so much for your reading, following, reviewing etc... This was one of my first stories and I would have never expected for it to get so much response, so I just want to tell you that your support means the world to me. On top of that, English is (as you might have already guessed) not my first language and it took me years of being an active reader in this fandom to finally gather the courage to start writing and posting stories of my own. So for all of you who have wondered about grammar mistakes or weird sentence structure or whatever- I am always open for constructive criticism and corrections :D And I sincerely hope my writing wasn't causing inconveniences for the readers. There will be a sequel for this story, and I would love for you all to keep reading and reviewing by the time I post the first chapter!  
Please - one last time- tell me what you thought about the ending or this story in general, tell me what you liked or disliked and if you have special wishes regarding the sequel I am totally open to suggestions! :D THANKS again, everyone! You are awesome :)_


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